LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Chap. Copyright No.. 

Slielf„_f R 8S 



-rib 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



^ 




Original engraving by G. Vertue. 



A HISTORY 



OF 



ENGLISH LITERATURE 




F. v.'^'n. painter, A.m., d.d. 



BY 



Professor of Modern Languages and Literature in Roanoke College, 

Author of " A History of Education," " Introduction to English 

Literature," " Introduction to American Literature," etc. 



oX*ic 



SIBLEY & DUCKER 
BOSTON CHICAGO 



9257 

Library of Conqrese 

Two Copies Received 
JUN 21 1900 

^r#^v^ 

Dflive<A# tt 

JUN 22 1900 



M« 




64096 

Copyright, 1899, 
By SIBLEY & DUCKER. 



NortooolJ ^ress 

J. S. Cushing & Co. — Berwick & Smith 
Norwood Mass. U.S.A. 






Ii£titcat£ti to 
MR. ORLANDO LEACH 



PREFACE 

This book is, in the main, an expansion of the text of 
the author's "Introduction to EngHsh Literature." The 
historical surveys and the biographical and critical sketches 
are more extended, and nearly twice as many authors are 
treated at length. 

The large number of authors treated has prevented the 
use of illustrative extracts other than those given in the bio- 
graphical and critical sketches. It is expected that the 
book will be supplemented by the reading or careful study 
of complete masterpieces, the selection of which is left to 
the judgment of the teacher. 

This work traces the course of English literature in its 
organic development. It presents a survey of the whole 
field, and reveals to the student the position and relations 
of the great English writers. The use of separate, unre- 
lated texts, without such a comprehensive survey, results 
in fragmentary and unsatisfactory knowledge. 

Considerable attention has been given to the historical 
and social conditions that largely determine the character 
of literature. The influence of race, epoch, and surround- 
ings has been clearly pointed out ; and thus, not only the 
history, but also the philosophy, of English literature has 
been in a measure presented. 

This work is intended to be, not a cyclopaedia of English 
literature, but a practical text-book. In the judgment of 
thoughtful teachers this fact will justify the omission of 
many names which would serve only to confuse and bur- 
den the student's memory. It is believed that as many 
authors have been treated at length as can be profitably 



vi PREFACE 

studied in our schools and colleges. For the sake of 
greater completeness, a list of less important writers, 
together with their principal works, is prefixed to each 
period. 

It is hoped that the comparatively full and sympathetic 
treatment of the great English authors will tend to awaken 
interest in literature, and give a clearer insight into its 
nature and beauty. Unusual prominence has been given 
to the writers of the nineteenth century. 

As an aid to many teachers and students, a list of some 
of the best and most accessible books relating both to the 
general subject of English literature and to particular 
authors has been given in an appendix. Not a few refer- 
ences have been given, also, to magazine and review arti- 
cles of special interest or value. As nearly all of these 
works have been used in the preparation of the present vol- 
ume, the writer wishes to refer to them as his authorities. 

It is hoped that the list of books appended as a general 
guide for reading will prove acceptable to a large number 
of students. It is designed to include only such books 
as have gained, by reason of some excellence or other, 
a noteworthy or permanent place in English literature. 
Many admirable books have been omitted ; for, with so 
great an abundance of literary treasures, the effort has 
been, not to extend, but to shorten the list. 

The author and pubUshers wish to express their great 
indebtedness to Mr. Frederick Keppel, of New York City, 
for the use of his large collection of authentic and finely 
executed portraits. It is believed that the literary map and 
the numerous illustrations will add much to the interest and 
usefulness of the book. 

F. V. N. PAINTER. 
Salem, Va., 
December 26, 1899. 



CONTENTS. 

INTRODUCTION. 

Literature in its largest sense — National literature — English 
literature — Its excellence — Moulding influences — Race — 
Epoch — Environment — Personal elements — Literature in a 
narrower sense — Importance of literature — As a social force 

— Literary taste — Periods of English literature . 

I. 

OLD ENGLISH OR ANGLO-SAXON PERIOD. 

(500-1066.) 

English language composite — Original inhabitants of British Isles 

— Roman conquest — Anglo-Saxon invasion — Character of 
Anglo-Saxons — Their religion — Missionary work of Au- 
gustine — Influence of Christianity — Education — Alcuin — 
Bede — Anglo-Saxon language — DiiTerent dialects — Poetry 
and gleemen — Principle of Anglo-Saxon poetry — Its char- 
acteristics — Value of Anglo-Saxon literature — Caedmon, 
" Beowulf " — Other poems — Alfred the Great 

II. 

MIDDLE ENGLISH OR FORMATIVE PERIOD. 

(1066-1400.) 

Limits of period — Normans — Their character — Norman Con- 
quest — Modern English — Social condition of England — 
Existing evils — Literary development — Esteem for learning 

— Trouvere poetry — •' Chanson de Roland " — Arthurian 

vii 



viii CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

cycle — Italian influence — History, romance, religion — 
" Anglo-Saxon Chronicle " — Latin Chronicles — Lyrical poe- 
try — Layamon's " Brut " — Robert of Gloucester — Robert 
Manning — Wycliflfe — Ormin — Langland — Gower — Geof- 
frey Chaucer 31 

in. 

FIRST CREATIVE OR ELIZABETHAN PERIOD. 
(1558-1625.) 

Interest of period — Barren era after Chaucer — Revival of learn- 
ing — Inventions — Caxton and the printing-press — The 
Reformation — Condition of England — Elizabeth's character 

— General progress — Influence on thought and character — 
Pre-Elizabethan literature — Old ballads — Thomas More — 
Earl of Surrey — Sir Thomas Wyat — Elizabethan outburst 
of literature — Ascham — Lyly — Sidney — Hooker — Raleigh 

— Elizabethan lyrics — Sackville, Daniel, Drayton — Origin 
of drama — Miracle plays — Moralities — First comedy and 
tragedy — Theatres — Minor dramatists — Ben Jonson — 
Edmund Spenser — Francis Bacon — William Shake- 
speare 67 

IV. 

CIVIL WAR OR PURITAN PERIOD. 
(1625-1660.) 

Puritan ascendency — Civil and religious conflicts — Pohcy of 
Charles I. — Petition of Right — Bad advisers of king — 
■ House of Commons — Independents — Voluntary exiles — 
Civil War — The commonwealth — Puritanism unfavorable to 
literature — Decay of drama — Jeremy Taylor — Earl of 
Clarendon — Baxter — Isaak Walton — " Metaphysical poets " 

— Johnson's criticism — Edmund Waller — Abraham Cowley 

— John Milton — John Bunyan 153 



CONTENTS. ix 

V. 

FIRST CRITICAL OR QUEEN ANNE PERIOD. 

( 1 660-1 745.) 

PAGE 

Puritan extreme — Reaction — French influence — Natural sci- 
ence — Transition — Greater toleration — Deism — Augustan 
Age — English influence — Social condition — Woman — 
Witchcraft — Rise of Methodism — Reading public — Clubs 

— Periodicals — Diarists, Evelyn and Pepys — John Locke — 
Steele — Rise of the novel — Defoe — Richardson — Fielding 

— Samuel Butler — James Thomson — Edward Youn^ — 
John Dryden — Joseph Addison — Alexander Pope — 
Jonathan Swift 195 

VI. 
AGE OF JOHNSON. 

(1745-1800.) 

Characteristics of period — Transition — Brotherhood of man — 
Declaration of Independence — Democratic tendencies — 
Advancing intelligence — Newspapers — Moral and religious 
improvement — Philanthropy — England a world-power — 
Results on English character — Oratory — Pitt, Burke — His- 
torical writing — Hume, Robertson — Romantic movement 

— Effects — Humanity — Nature — Samuel Johnson — Oli- 
ver Goldsmith — Edward Gibbon — William Cowper 

— Robert Burns 



VII. 

AGE OF SCOTT. 

(1800-1832.) 

Favorable political conditions — Triumphs of democracy — Periods 
not sharply defined — Effect of French Revolution — Growing 
intelligence — Periodicals — Critics : Jeffrey, Hazlitt, Lamb, 
Wilson, Lockjiart — History : Hallam, Mitford — Promi- 



273 



X CONTENTS. 

PAGB 

nence of women — Ann Radcliffe — Maria Edgeworth — 
Jane Austen — Poetry — Thomas Campbell — John Keats — 
Robert Southey — Thomas Moore — Sir Walter Scott — 
Lord Byron — William Wordsworth — Samuel Tay- 
lor Coleridge — Percy Bysshe Shelley — Thomas De 
QuiNCEY 367 

VIII. 

VICTORIAN AGE. 

(1832-1900.) 

Grandeur of the age — Inventions — Notable era — Scientific in- 
vestigation — Practical tendencies — Educational advance- 
ment — Periodical press — International relations — Political 
progress — Social improvement — Religion and philanthropy 

— Creative and diffusive literature — Essay writing — History 

— Fiction — Realism and romanticism — Poetry — Thomas 
Babington Macaulay — Charlotte Bronte — William 
Makepeace Thackeray — Charles Dickens — George 
Eliot — Elizabeth Barrett Browning — Robert 
Browning — Alfred Tennyson — Thomas Carlyle — 
Matthew Arnold — John Ruskin 473 

APPENDIX. 

Literary Map of England .... Facing page 671 

Books of Reference 671 

Books Worth Reading 683 



ILLUSTRATIONS 



Portrait of Chaucer 

Portrait of Spenser, with facsimile of autograph 
Portrait of Bacon, with facsimile of autograph 
Portrait of Shakespeare, with facsimile of autograph 

Inscriptions 

The Mary Arden Cottage .... 

Stratford on Avon 

Portrait of Milton, with facsimile of autograph 
Portrait of Bunyan, with facsimile of autograph 
Portrait of Uryden, with facsimile of autograph 
Portrait of Addison, with facsimile of autograph 
Portrait of Pope, with facsimile of autograph 
Portrait of Swift, with facsimile of autograph 
Portrait of Johnson, with facsimile of autograph 
Portrait of Goldsmith, with facsimile of autograph 
Portrait of Gibbon, with facsimile of autograph 
Portrait of Cowper, with facsimile of autograph 
Portrait of Burns, with facsimile of autograph 
The Tarn O' Shanter Inn . 
The Auld Brig o" Doon .... 
Portrait of Scott, with facsimile of autograph 
Ellen's Isle ....-•• 

Scott's Tomb 

Portrait of Byron, with facsimile of autograph 
Portrait of Wordsworth, with facsimile of autograph 



Frontispiece 

FACING PAGE 

144 

167 
181 

240 
258 
288 
302 

332 

349 
360 

365 
383 
389 

396 
397 
410 



XI 1 



ILL USTRA TIOiVS. 



Grasmere . 

The Poet's Seat ....... 

Portrait of Coleridge, with facsimile of autograph 

Greta Hall 

Portrait of Shelley, with facsimile of autograph 

Portrait of De Ouincey, with facsimile of autograph 

Portrait of Macaulay, with facsimile of autograph 

Portrait of Bronte, with facsimile of autograph 

Portrait of Thackeray, with facsimile of autograph 

Portrait of Dickens, with facsimile of autograph . 

Gadshill — Home of Dickens .... 

Portrait of Eliot, with facsimile of autograph 

Portrait of Browning (E. B.), with facsimile of autograph 

Portrait of Browning (Robert), with facsimile of autograph 

House in which Browning died, Venice 

Portrait of Tennyson, with facsimile of autograph 

Tennyson's Walk at Farringford . 

Portrait of Carlyle, with facsimile of autograph 

Carlyle's Monument ..... 

Portrait of Arnold, with facsimile of autograph 

Fox How — the Arnold Home 

Portrait of Ruskin, with facsimile of autograph 

Brantwood — Ruskin's Home 

Literary map with index .... 



FACING PAGE 
416 

418 

425 

437 
442 

459 
488 

504 
519 

535 
542 

552 
568 

585 
601 
603 
617 
622 
636 

639 
640 

656 

669 

Between 670 and 671 



HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE 



INTRODUCTION. 

Literature in its largest sense — National literature — English litera- 
ture — Its excellence — Moulding influences — Race — Epoch — 
Environment — Personal elements — Literature in a narrower sense 
— Importance of literature — As a social force — Literary taste — 
Periods of English literature. 

In its largest sense, literature includes all the written 
records of man. It presents the thoughts, emotions, and 
achievements of the human family. Its vast extent ren- 
ders it absolutely impossible for any person to become 
acquainted with more than a very small part of it. The 
greatest libraries of the world now contain more than 
a million volumes, to which thousands are added every 
year. 

This general or universal literature is made up of 
national literatures. A national literature is composed of 
the literary productions of a particular nation. After 
reaching a state of civilization, every nation accumulates 
a body of writings that express the thoughts, feelings, and 
achievements of its people. Thus we have the literature 
of Greece, of Rome, of Germany, of England, and of other 
nations, both ancient and modern. 



2 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

English literature embraces the writings of the people 
of Great Britain. It covers a period of about twelve hun- 
dred years; and five hundred years ago it had in Chaucer 
one of the world's great writers. It shares in the greatness 
of the English people. It combines French vivacity with 
German depth ; and in its scope, variety, and excellence 
it is second to no other. No department of literature has 
been left uncultivated. Poets have sung in sweet and 
lofty strains ; novelists have portrayed every phase of 
society ; orators have convinced the judgment and moved 
the heart ; scientists have revealed the laws of the physi- 
cal world ; historians have eloquently told of the past ; 
and philosophers have deeply pondered the mysteries of 
existence. 

This literature is a heritage in which all English-speak- 
ing people may feel a just pride. It is a subject to which 
they should give careful study. It embodies the best 
thought and the noblest feeling of the English people ; 
and an acquaintance with it leads not only to greater 
breadth of culture, but also to a profounder insight into 
English history and English character. Standing in close 
relation to us, it naturally possesses a deeper interest than 
the literature of any other country. 

Literature is influenced or determined by whatever 
affects the thought and feeling of a people. Among the 
most potent influences that determine the character of a 
literature are race, epoch, and sitrronndings . This fact 
should be clearly understood, for it renders a philosophy 
of literature possible. We cannot fully understand any 
work of literature, nor justly estimate its excellence, with- 
out an acquaintance with the national traits of the writer. 



INTRODUCTION. 



the general character of the age in which he lived, and 
the physical and social conditions by which he was sur- 
rounded. The relation between literature and history is 
very intimate. 

The human family is divided into several races, which 
are distinguished from one another by different physical 
and mental characteristics. The Caucasian is clearly dis- 
tinguishable from the African, not only by his fairer skin 
and straighter hair, but also by his superior intellectual 
powers. Within the same race we discover similar, though 
less clearly marked, differences. Apart from noticeable 
physical differences, the Teuton, with his serious, reflec- 
tive, persistent temper, is quite unlike the Celt, with his 
vivacity, wit, and ready enthusiasm. No two nations are 
exactly ahke in form and in mind. These differences, 
wherever found, are naturally reflected in literature, which 
is the expression of the life of the soul. 

Every age has its peculiar interests, culture, and ten- 
dencies. With the ancient Jewish nation, religion was a 
predominant interest. In the Elizabethan Age, culture 
was far more general than at the period of the Norman 
Conquest. The present century is characterized by its 
democratic tendencies. Whatever may be the epoch, its 
peculiarities will inevitably be reflected in its literary pro- 
ductions. An acquaintance with the general character of 
an age gives a deeper insight into its literature. 

The third formative influence in literature is environ- 
ment or the prevailing physical and social conditions. The 
literature produced in the presence of a sterile soil and 
rigorous climate is different in tone and color from that 
produced in the midst of fruitful fields and under sunny 



4 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

skies ; and, in like manner, its quantity and quality are 
affected, to a greater or less degree, by a state of war or 
peace, intelligence or ignorance, wealth or poverty, free- 
dom or persecution. 

But it is a mistake to suppose that race, epoch, and sur- 
roundings will explain everything in literature. There is 
a personal element of great importance. From time to 
time, men of great genius appear, and rising by native 
strength high above the level of their age, become centres 
of a new and mighty influence in literature. This truth is 
exemplified by Homer in Greece, Luther in Germany, and 
Chaucer in England, each of whom exerted an incalcula- 
ble influence upon the subsequent literary development of 
his country. 

The word literature, which up to this point has been 
used in its large, general sense, has also a restricted mean- 
ing, which it is important to understand, and with which 
we are principally concerned in this work. In any liter- 
ary production we may distinguish between the thoughts 
that are presented, and the manner in which they are pre- 
sented. We may say, for example, " The sun is rising ; " 
or, ascending to a higher plane of thought and feeling, 
we may present the same fact in the language of 
Thomson : — 

" But yonder comes the powerful King of Day, 
Rejoicing in the east. The lessening cloud, 
The kindling azure, and the mountain's brow 
Illumed with fluid gold, his near approach 
Betoken glad." 

It is thus apparent that the interest and value of litera- 
ture are largely dependent upon the manner or form in 



INTRODUCTION. 5 

which the facts are presented. In its restricted sense, 
literature includes only those works which are polished or 
artistic in form. Poetry, fiction, essays, and oratory are 
its principal forms, though history and scientific treatises 
often reach an excellence that makes them literature in the 
narrower sense. The classic works of a literature are 
those which present ideas of general and permanent inter- 
est in a highly finished or artistic manner. 

The importance of literature, both in its larger and its 
narrower sense, can hardly be over-estimated. Books are 
the treasure-houses, in which the intellectual riches of all 
past ages have been permanently stored. Literature is 
our principal means of acquiring a knowledge of the 
achievements of our race, and of rising to the highest 
plane of intellectual and spiritual culture. By means of 
literature we reach beyond the narrow limits of our own 
life and experience, and appropriate the best intellectual 
and spiritual results of all ages and all civilized peoples. 

Literature is a great force in the world. ''Books," as 
Milton said, " are not absolutely dead things, but do con- 
tain a potency of life in them to be as active as that soul 
was whose progeny they are ; nay, they do preserve as in 
a vial the purest efficacy and extraction of that living in- 
tellect that bred them. I know they are as lively, and as 
vigorously productive, as those fabulous dragon's teeth; 
and being sown up and down, may chance to spring up 
armed men." Many of the great religious, social, and 
political movements of the Christian era have stood in 
close relation to literature. The Christian church to-day 
owes its development and character chiefly to the writings 
of the New Testament. The great intellectual movement 



6 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

of the fifteenth century, to which we give the name of 
Renaissance, was largely due to a revived study of the 
literary treasures of ancient Greece. The American and 
French revolutions at the close of the last century owed 
their origin and vitality, in no small degree, to the views 
of human rights previously promulgated in the writings of 
a few clear-sighted patriots and philosophers ; and to-day 
the power of literature is so generally recognized that 
every party, sect, or organization deems it necessary to 
have its printed organ, and to promulgate its views 
through tracts and books. 

It is not easy to acquire the literary taste that is satisfied 
only with what is excellent in thought and expression. 
Good taste in literature is a combination of adequate 
knowledge, delicate feeling, and sound judgment. It goes 
hand in hand with general culture. Natural gifts facili- 
tate its acquirement, but in every case it is the result of 
extensive reading and careful study. The guiding hand 
of a competent teacher is at first almost indispensable. 
Our great writers, almost without exception, serve a long 
apprenticeship. As in the acquisition of language, it is 
necessary to begin with what is simple and easy. We 
rise to the mountain summits of thought and feeling, 
as to the summit of the Alps, by slow and laborious 
steps. 

The history of EngHsh literature, following the devel- 
opment of the English language, may be divided into three 
general periods : — 

I. The Old Enghsh or Anglo-Saxon Period, extending 
approximately from 500 to 1066 a.d., the date of the Nor- 
man Conquest. The literature of this period is written in 



INTRODUCTION. 7 

Old English or Anglo-Saxon, with very little admixture 
with other languages. 

2. The Middle English or Formative Period, extending 
approximately from 1066 to 1400, the date of Chaucer's 
death. This period is characterized by the loss of Old 
English inflections, and by the introduction of a large 
French element through the Norman Conquest. 

3. The Modern English Period, extending approxi- 
mately from 1400 to the present time. It is characterized 
by the fixed forms of our expanded language, and by its 
varied and unsurpassed literature. It is subdivided, as 
will be hereafter noted, into several subordinate periods, 
according to the literary or social movements of the time. 



OLD ENGLISH OR ANGLO-SAXON PERIOD. 



REPRESENTATIVE WRITERS. 

Poetry. 

Caedmon (f 680). 
Author of '' Beowulf." 

Prose. 

Alcuin (735-804). 

Bede (673-735). 

Alfred the Great (849-901). 



I. 

OLD ENGLISH OR ANGLO-SAXON PERIOD. 

(500-1066.) 

English language composite — Original inhabitants of British Isles — 
Roman conquest — Anglo-Saxon invasion — Character of Anglo- 
Saxons — Their religion — Missionary work of Augustine — Influ- 
ence of Christianity — Education — Alcuin — Bede — Anglo-Saxon 
language — Different dialects — Poetry and gleeman — Principle of 
Anglo-Saxon poetry — Its characteristics — Value of Anglo-Saxon 
literature — Caedmon, " Beowulf " — Other poems — Alfred the 
Great. 

The English nation, like the English language, is com- 
posite. The principal element in both, coming chiefly 
from the Angles and Saxons, is Teutonic. Through the 
native population of the British Isles — Britons, Scotch, 
and Irish — there has gradually been introduced a Celtic 
element. The Danes, who in the ninth century estab- 
Hshed themselves in England and were afterward ab- 
sorbed, strengthened the Teutonic element. Through the 
Norman Conquest, in the eleventh century, a further Cel- 
tic element was introduced. The infusion of this Celtic 
strain into the sturdier Teutonic stock has been peculiarly 
fortunate, imparting to the EngUsh character a greater 
delicacy of feeling and a finer poetic sensibility. The 
greatness of English Hterature is due, in no small measure, 
to this happy admixture of Teutonic and Celtic elements. 



n 



II 



12 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

The original inhabitants of the British Isles, within his- 
toric times, were Celts — a part of the first great Aryan 
wave that swept over Europe. In a portion of Great Brit- 
ain, — in Ireland, Scotland, and Wales, — the Celtic ele- 
ment is still very strong. The Celts are a vigorous people, 
adhering to their national customs with great tenacity. 
They possess a lively imagination, delicate feeHng, and a 
ready enthusiasm. They seem, however, to be lacking in 
the power of strong poHtical organization ; and this defect 
made them a prey, first to Roman, and later to Teutonic, 
invaders. 

The Romans under Caesar invaded Britain, 55 B.C., and 
partly subdued it. In the following century Agricola ex- 
tended the Roman conquest over the territory now in- 
cluded in England, and reduced Britain to a Roman 
province. Towns were built; military roads were con- 
structed ; Roman law was administered ; Christianity was 
introduced ; and a considerable commerce was developed. 
Corn was exported, and the tin mines of Cornwall were 
worked. But the native population, unlike what had 
taken place in Gaul and Spain, remained unassimilated 
to the empire, and still clung, in large measure, to its lan- 
guage and customs. When, after some four hundred 
years, the Roman forces were withdrawn, the Latin lan- 
guage, with the exception of a very few words, disappeared 
entirely. The principal relics of this Roman occupation 
surviving in our language to-day is the word street (from 
the Latin strata via, a paved way), and the words caster, 
cester, and Chester (from the Latin castra, camp) in the 
names of places ; as, Lancaster, Worcester, and Win- 
chester. 



OLD ENGLISH OR ANGLO-SAXON PERIOD. 



13 



After the withdrawal of the Roman legions in the fifth 
century, Britain was invaded by the Angles, Saxons, and 
Jutes — Teutonic tribes that inhabited Schleswig, Jutland, 
and adjacent territory on the Continent. The beginning 
of this invasion is usually dated from 449, the year in 
which Hengist and Horsa, according to the Anglo-Saxon 
Chronicle, landed on the shores of Kent. The invading- 
Teutons, hated for their cruelty and their heathenism, 
were stubbornly resisted by the native Celts, and it was 
nearly a hundred years before the Britons were finally 
driven back into Cornwall and Wales. They slowly re- 
tired, as did the American Indians in this country, with- 
out assimilation ; and beyond a few names of places, they 
left scarcely any trace in our language. The Saxons 
occupied the south, and the Angles the north and centre 
of Britain; and to the latter, who were the more numer- 
ous, belongs the honor of giving to the country its modern 
name of England — a word signifying the land of the 
Angles. 

In the character of these Teutonic tribes are to be 
found the fundamental traits of the EngHsh people and of 
English literature. In their continental home they led a 
semi-barbarous and pagan life. The sterile soil and dreary 
climate fostered a serious disposition, and developed great 
physical strength. Courage was esteemed a leading vir- 
tue, and cowardice was punished with drowning'. No other 
men were ever braver. They welcomed the fierce excite- 
ment of danger ; and in rude vessels they sailed from coast 
to coast on expeditions of piracy, war, and pillage. Laugh- 
ing at storms and shipwrecks, these daring sea-kings sang : 
"The blast of the tempest aids our oars; the bellowing 



14 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

of heaven, the howling of the thunder hurts us not ; the 
hurricane is our servant, and drives us whither we wish to 

go." 

With an unconquerable love of independence, they pre- 
ferred death to slavery. Refined tastes and delicate in- 
stincts were crushed out by their inhospitable surroundings ; 
and their pleasures, consisting chiefly of drinking, gam- 
bling, and athletic sports, were often coarse and repulsive. 
Yet under their coarsest enjoyment we discover a sturdy, 
masculine strength. They felt the presence of the mys- 
terious forces of nature, and deified them in a colossal 
mythology. Traces of their religion are seen in the names 
of the days of the week. Wednesday is Woden's day, 
the god of war and the guardian of ways and boundaries ; 
Thursday is Thor's day, the god of thunder and storm ; 
Friday is Frea's day, the goddess of peace, joy, and fruit- 
fulness. Eostre, the goddess of dawn and of spring, lends 
her name to the festival of the Resurrection. With these 
Teutons the sense of obligation and duty was strong ; and 
having once pledged fidelity to a leader or cause, they re- 
mained loyal to death. They honored women and revered 
virtue. In a word, they possessed a native seriousness, 
virtue, and strength, which, ennobled by Christianity and 
refined by culture, raised their descendants to an eminent 
position among the nations of the earth. 

The Anglo-Saxon invasion swept away the British 
church which had been established under Christian Rome. 
A reign of paganism was once more introduced, and held 
sway for a hundred and fifty years. Then occurred an 
event that changed the character of English history. In 
597 Gregory, who filled the papal chair at Rome, sent St. 



OLD ENGLISH OR ANGLO-SAXON PERIOD. 1 5 

Augustine with a band of missionaries to labor among the 
Anglo-Saxons. While yet an abbot, Gregory's interest 
had been awakened by the fair faces and flaxen hair of a 
group of Saxon youths exposed for sale in the slave-market 
at Rome. ''Who are they.?" he asked. "Angles," was 
the reply. " It suits them well," he said, *' with faces so 
angel-like. From what country do they come V " From 
Deiri," said the merchant. ''Be /ra .^ " ^ exclaimed the 
pious monk, " then they must be dehvered from the wrath 
of God. What is the name of their king ? " " Aella," he 
was told. '' Aella! " he replied, seizing on the word as of 
good omen, "then shall Alleluia be sung in his land." 

Augustine proceeded to Kent, where he was kindly re- 
ceived by Ethelbert. The king had married Bertha, a 
Frankish princess of Christian training, through whose 
influence his pagan prejudices had been largely overcome. 
When, by means of interpreters, Augustine had set forth 
the nature of Christianity in a lengthy address, the king 
said : " Your words and promises are very fair ; but as 
they are new to us, and of uncertain import, I cannot 
approve of them so far as to forsake that which I have 
so long followed with the whole EngHsh nation. But 
because you are come from far into my kingdom, and, as 
I conceive, are desirous to impart to us those things which 
you believe to be true and most beneficial, we will not 
molest you, but give you favorable entertainment, and take 
care to supply you with your necessary sustenance ; nor 
do we forbid you to preach and gain as many as you can 
to your religion." ^ 

1 Latin, meaning '■'•from the wrath.'' 

2 Bede, " Ecclesiastical History," Bk. I. chap, xxv. 



1 6 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

The missionaries took up their residence at Canterbury. 
Christianity made rapid progress. Within a year from the 
landing of Augustine upon the shores of Kent, Ethelbert 
and thousands of his people became Christians. Mission- 
ary zeal carried the new religion to other parts of Eng- 
land. Edwin, the powerful king of Northumbria, was led 
to call a council for the purpose of considering its adop- 
tion. An aged ealderman arose and spoke as follows : 
" So seems life, O King, as a sparrow's flight through the 
hall where a man is sitting at meat in winter-tide with the 
warm fire lighted on the hearth, but the chill rain-storm 
without. The sparrow flies in at one door and tarries. 
for a moment in the light and heat of the hearth-fire, 
and then flying forth from the other, vanishes into the 
wintry darkness whence it came. So tarries for a moment 
the life of man in our sight, but what is before it and what 
after it, we know not. If this new teaching tell us aught 
certainly of these, let us follow it." 

The native seriousness of the Anglo-Saxon character 
offered a favorable soil for the growth of Christianity. 
The gospel was peculiarly adapted to the needs of this peo- 
ple. In restraining brutal pleasures, inculcating benevolent 
affections, and promoting intellectual culture, it supplied 
what was wanting in EngHsh character, and imparted 
an element essential to the highest development of the 
national life. England was once more brought in line 
with the highest European civilization ; and the culture, 
arts, and sciences that had fled before the pagan con- 
querors returned with Christianity. 

Education followed in the wake of Christianity. The 
cathedral and monastic schools became the principal edu- 



OLD ENGLISH OR ANGLO-SAXON PERIOD. ly 

cational agency. The course of instruction embraced the 
so-called seven liberal arts, — grammar, logic, rhetoric, 
arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, and music, — to which 
seven years were devoted. Latin, the language of the 
church, was made the basis of education, and nearly all 
instruction had a theological or ecclesiastical aim. The 
great body of the people remained illiterate, and even 
kings were sometimes unable to write their names. Their 
energies were absorbed in almost continual wars and in the 
stern struggle to gain a liveHhood ; and under these con- 
ditions it is needless to say that beyond ecclesiastical or 
monastic circles literature hardly existed. 

In this period England had its share of ecclesiastical 
scholars, among whom were Alcuin and Bede. The home 
of the former was at York, one of the principal centres of 
culture, where in 'j66 he became master of the cathedral 
school. Afterward he went to the Continent, residing at 
the court of Charlemagne. He reorganized the palace 
school, and afterward undertook to reform the system of 
education throughout the emperor's dominions. His nu- 
merous writings were occupied chiefly with theology and 
education. He wrote a number of text-books, and in the 
preface of one of them he warmly commends study : " Oh 
ye, who enjoy the youthful age, so fitted for your lessons, 
learn ! Be docile. Lose not the day in idle things. 
The passing hour, like the wave, never returns again. 
Let your early years flourish with the study of the 
virtues, that your age may shine with great honors. 
Use these happy days. Learn, while young, the art of 
eloquence, that you may be a safeguard and defender of 
those whom you value. Acquire the conduct and man- 



1 8 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

ners so beautiful in youth, and your name will become 
celebrated through the world. But as I wish you not to 
be sluggish, so neither be proud. I worship the recesses 
of the devout and humble breast." 

In a poem on the '' Saints of the Church of York," 
Alcuin pays a beautiful tribute to ^Elbert, his predeces- 
sor as master of the cathedral school, who, after instruc- 
tion in the liberal arts, led his students to the Scriptures : — 

" Then, last and best, he opened up to view 
The depths of Holy Scripture, Old and New. 
Was any youth in studies well approved, 
Then him the master cherished, taught, and loved; 
And thus the double knowledge he conferred 
Of liberal studies and the Holy Word." 

Bede may be justly regarded as the father of Eng- 
lish prose. From an interesting autobiographical sketch 
at the close of his '* Ecclesiastical History," we learn the 
leading events in his unpretentious life. He was born in 
673, near the monastery of Jarrow in northern England. 
As pupil, deacon, and priest, he passed his entire life in that 
monastic institution. The leisure that remained to him 
after the faithful performance of his various official duties, 
he assiduously devoted to learning; for he always took 
delight, as he tells us, " in learning, teaching, and writ- 
ing." He was an indefatigable worker, and wrote no 
less than forty-five separate treatises, including works on 
Scripture, history, hymnology, astronomy, grammar, and 
rhetoric, in which is embodied all the learning of his age. 

His scholarship and aptness as a teacher gave celebrity 
to the monastic school at Jarrow, which was attended at 
one time by six hundred monks in addition to many secu- 



OLD ENGLISH OR ANGLO-SAXON PERIOD. 



19 



lar students. His fame extended as far as Rome, whither 
he was invited by Pope Sergius, who wished the benefit 
of his counsel. He led an eminently simple, devout, and 
earnest Hfe. He decUned the dignity of abbot, lest the 
duties of the office might interfere with his studies. As a 
writer he was clear, succinct, and artless. His '' Ecclesi- 
astical History," which was composed in Latin, is our 
chief source of information in regard to the early Anglo- 
Saxon church. The credulity he exhibits in regard to 
ecclesiastical miracles was characteristic of his time. 

His pupil Cuthbert has left us a pathetic account of his 
death. Industrious to the last, he was engaged on an 
Anglo-Saxon version of St. John. It was Wednesday 
morning, the 27th of May. One of his pupils, who was 
acting as scribe, said to him : *' Dearest master, there is 
still one chapter wanting ; do you think it troublesome to 
be asked any more questions .? " He answered : "It is no 
trouble. Take your pen and write fast." In the after- 
noon he called his friends together, distributed a few sim- 
ple gifts, and then amidst their tears bade them a solemn 
farewell. At sunset his scribe said : " Dear master, there 
is yet one sentence not written." He answered: ''Write 
quickly." ''It is finished now," said the scribe at last. 
" You have spoken truly," the aged scholar replied ; " it is 
finished. Receive my head into your hands, for it is a 
great satisfaction to me to sit facing the holy place where 
I was wont to pray." And thus on the pavement of his 
little cell, in the year 735, he quietly passed away with the 
last words of the solemn chant, " Glory be to the Father, 
and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost." 

Thus closed the life of the first great English scholar. 



20 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

Not inaptly did later ages style him the Venerable Bede. 
*' First among English scholars, first among EngHsh theo- 
logians, first among English historians, it is in the monk 
of Jarrow that English literature strikes its roots. In the 
six hundred scholars who gathered round him for instruc- 
tion, he is the father of our national education. In his 
physical treatises he is the first figure to which our science 
looks back." ^ 

The Old English or Anglo-Saxon, which was first re- 
duced to writing after the establishment of Christian 
schools, belongs to the Aryan or Indo-European group of 
languages. The other principal members of this group, 
besides the Teutonic branch to which the Anglo-Saxon 
belongs, are the Indie, the Iranic, the Hellenic, the Italic, 
the Celtic, and the Slavonic. They all sprang originally 
from the same mother-tongue, the home of which is com- 
monly supposed to have been central Asia. Their rela- 
tionship is clearly established by the substantial identity 
of many words and grammatical forms. The following 
diagram shows the relative age and remoteness from each 
other of these different branches or classes, together with 
the dates of their earliest literary records : — 



A. Aryan or Indo-European Stock. 

1. Indie, Sanskrit Vedas, 1500 B.C. 

2. Iranic, Bactrian Avesta, 1000 B.C. 

3. Hellenic, Greek, 800 B.C. 

4. Italic, Latin, 200, B.C. 

5. Teutonic, Gothic Bible, fourth century. 

6. Celtic, eighth century. 

7. Slavonic, Bulgarian Bible, fourth century. 

8. Anglo-Saxon, eighth century. . 



1 Green, " History of the English People," Vol. i. 




OLD ENGLISH OR ANGLO-SAXON PERIOD. 21 

The Anglo-Saxon belongs to the Teutonic branch of the 
Aryan family, and is closely related, on the one hand, 
to German, and on the other to Scandinavian. It is an 
inflected language with four cases. In England it was 
divided into four dialects, — the Northumbrian, the Mer- 
cian, the Kentish, and the West Saxon. Most of our 
Anglo-Saxon remains are in the West Saxon dialect, 
though it is from the Mercian, which was spoken in 
central England, that modern English is most directly 
derived. The Lord's Prayer in Anglo-Saxon, with an 
interlinear translation, will serve for illustration. 

Ure Faeder, thu the eart on heofonum, si thin nama gehalgod. 

Our' Father, thou zvho art in [the] heavens, be thy name hallowed. 

Tocume thin rice. Geweorthe thin willa on eorthan swa-swa 

Alay come thy kingdorn. Be thy zvill on earth as 

on heofonum. Sele us to-daeg urne daeg-hwamlican hlaf. And 

in l^the'] heave }is. Give us to-day our daily bread {loaf^. And 

forgif us ure gyltas swa-swa we fogifath urum gyl-tendum. And ne 

forgive us our guilts as we forgive our guilty ones. And not 

laed thu us on costnunge. Ac alys us from yfel. Si hit swa. 
lead thou us into temptation. But release us from evil. Be it so. 

The first literature of a people is poetry. In national 
as in individual life, the imagination is active during the 
period of youth. Among the Anglo-Saxons, as among 
some other nations, narrative poems, before they were 
reduced to writing, were sung by the wandering glee- 
man, — 

" A man of celebrity, mindful of rhythms, 
Who ancient tradition treasured in memory, 
New word-groups found properly bound." ^ 

^ " Beowulf," xiv. 



22 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

The most pleasing picture that comes to us from the 
early days of our English forefathers, is that of the scop or 
gleeman at their feasts. While the stern warriors sit at 
their long tables and quaff their mead in the large hall 
hung with shields and armor, and lighted by great blazing 
logs on the hearth, the rude poet, to the sound of his 
harp, recounts the deeds of heroes in rhythmical song. 

The principle of Anglo-Saxon poetry is not rhyme nor 
metre, but alliteration. Each line is divided into two parts 
by a caesura, and two principal words of the first hemis- 
tich, and one of the second, regularly begin with the same 
consonant. If these principal words begin with vowels, 
they are different. Parallelism — the repetition of the 
same thought in different words, as in Hebrew poetry — 
is also common. The following extract from " Beowulf " 
exhibits the Anglo-Saxon alliterative form : — 

" His ^rmor of /ron — o'S. him he did then, 
His i^elmet from his /zead — to his //enchman committed, 
His <:/^ased-handled «:/^ain-sword, — ^/zoicest of weapons, 
And <^ade him (^ide, — with his ^battle-equipment." 

The language of Anglo-Saxon poetry is abrupt, ellipti- 
cal, and highly metaphorical, but often of great energy. 
The range of ideas is necessarily limited. From what we 
already know of the life and character of the Angles and 
Saxons, it is not difficult to understand the spirit of their 
poetry. Not love, but war and religion form its leading 
themes. Its prevailing tone, especially of that portion 
which contains an echo of the continental home of the 
Angles and Saxons, is one of sadness. The inhospitable 
climate of northern Germany, and the stern struggle for 



OLD ENGLISH OR ANGLO-SAXON PERIOD. 23 

existence on land and sea, made life a deeply serious thing. 
Human agency was felt to be weak in comparison with the 
great invisible forces of nature. The sense of fate and 
death weighed heavily on the Anglo-Saxon mind. Thus, 
in ''The Wanderer," a poem of an unknown author, we 
read : — 

" Earth is enwrapped in the lowering tempest, 
• Fierce on the stone-cliff the storm rushes forth, 
Cold winter-terror, the night-shade is darjk^'ning. 

Hail-storms are laden with death from the north. 
All full of hardships is earthly existence — 

Here the decrees of the Fates have their sway — 
Fleeting is treasure and fleeting is friendship — 
Here man is transient, here friends pass away. 
Earth's widely stretching, extensive domain, 
Desolate all — empty, idle, and vain." ^ 

The Anglo-Saxon literature that has been preserved to 
us, though of small extent, is of incalculable value, not so 
much for its intrinsic merit as for the light it throws on the 
life and character of our Teutonic ancestors. About thirty 
thousand lines of poetry and a few prose works have come 
down to us. This literature, especially the poetical part of 
it, shows us the force of thought and imagination which 
they possessed as a racial inheritance. It reveals to us 
their manner of life ; but above all, it shows us the depth 
of soul with which they contemplated the mysteries of ex- 
istence, and the courage with which they met its inevitable 
hardships and duties. The literature of the Anglo-Saxon 
reveals to us a nation strong in its mental and moral poten- 
tialities — the substructure on which was to be built Eng- 
lish and American civiUzation. 

1 Translation of W. R. Sims. 



24 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

Caedmon, the earliest of English poets, lived in the 
latter part of the seventh century. He has with justice 
been called *' the Milton of our forefathers " ; and his 
poems are strongly suggestive of "Paradise Lost." He 
seems to have been a laborer on the lands attached to 
the monastery of St. Hilda at Whitby, and was advanced 
in years before his poetical powers were developed. When 
at festive gatherings it was agreed that all present should 
sing in turn, Caedmon was accustomed, as the harp ap- 
proached him, quietly to retire with a humiUating sense 
of his want of skill. Having left the banqueting hall on 
one occasion, he went to the stable, where it was his turn 
to care for the horses. In a vision an angel appeared to 
him and said: "Caedmon, sing a song to me." He an- 
swered: "I cannot sing; for that is the reason why I 
left the entertainment, and retired to this place." " Never- 
theless," said the heavenly visitor, " thou shalt sing." 
" What shall I sing t " inquired the poet, as he felt the 
movement of an awakening power. " Sing the beginning 
of created things," said the angel. 

His mission was thus assigned him. In the morning 
the good abbess Hilda, with a company of learned men, 
witnessed an exhibition of his newly awakened powers ; 
and concluding that heavenly grace had been bestowed 
upon him, she bade him lay aside his secular habit and 
received him into the monastery as a monk. Here he 
led a humble, exemplary life in the exercise of his poetic 
gifts. " He sang the creation of the world, the origin 
of man, and all the history of Genesis ; and made many 
verses on the departure of the children of Israel out of 
Egypt, and their entering into the Land of Promise, with 



OLD ENGLISH OR ANGLO-SAXON PERIOD. 2$ 

many other histories from Holy Writ ... by which he 
endeavored to turn away all men from the love of vice, 
and to excite in them the l9ve of, and application to, good 
actions." ^ 

The following description of the Creation illustrates 
Caedmon's manner of amplifying the Scripture narra- 
tive : — 

" There was not yet then here, 

Except gloom like a cavern, 

Any thing made. 

But the wide ground 

Stood deep and dim, 

For a new lordship 

Shapeless and unsuitable. 

On this with his eyes he glanced, 

The King stern in mind, 

And the joyless place beheld. 

He saw the dark clouds 

Perpetually press 

Black under the sky. 

Void and waste ; 

Till that this world's creation 

Through the word was done 

Of the King of Glory." 

Though rude in form, Caedmon's Paraphrase contains 
genuine poetry. It is the product of admirable genius, 
but genius fettered by unfavorable surroundings and lack 
of culture. 

The most important Anglo-Saxon poem that has de- 
scended to us is " Beowulf," a primitive epic of some three 
thousand lines. It was probably composed in its present 
form in the eighth century, but the events it celebrates 

1 Bede, "Ecclesiastical History." 



26 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

are of a much earlier date. It brings before us the spirit 
and manners of our forefathers, before they left their 
continental home. The hero of the poem is Beowulf : — 

" Of heroes then livmg 
He was the stoutest and strongest, sturdy and noble." 

Sailing to the land of the Danes, he slew a monster of 
the fens called Grendel, whose nightly ravages brought 
dismay into Hrothgar's royal palace. After slaying the 
fiend of the marshes and his mother beneath the waters, 
Beowulf, loaded with presents and honors, returned to 
Sweden, where he became king, and ruled fifty years. 
But at last, in slaying a fire-dragon '' under the earth, 
nigh to the sea-wave," he was mortally wounded. His 
body was burned on a lofty funeral pyre amidst the 
lamentations of his vassals. 

Such in brief is the story of this epic of heroic daring' 
and achievement, in which the old Teutonic character is 
reflected in its fulness. Its details are full of interest. 
The fierceness of northern seas and skies is brought 
before us. We assist at mead-hall banquets, in which 
gracious queens and beautiful maidens hand the ale cup. 
The loyalty of liegemen is beautifully portrayed. A stern 
sense of honor prevails among the rude warriors : — 

" Death is more pleasant 
To every earlman than infamous life is." 

Their courage is dauntless, and words count for less 
than actions. Beowulf thus states to the queen the object 
of his visit : — 

" I purposed in spirit when I mounted the ocean, 
When I boarded my boat with a band of my liegemen, 



OLD ENGLISH OR ANGLO-SAXON PERIOD. 27 

I would work to the fullest the will of }our people, 
Or in foe's-clutches fastened fall in the battle. 
Deeds I shall do of daring and prowess, 
Or the last of my life-days live in this mead-hall." 

The poem concludes with the following lines in praise 
of Beowulf : — 

" 'Round the dead-mound rode then the doughty-in-battle, 
Bairns of all twelve of the chiefs of the people, 
More would they mourn, lament for their ruler, 
Speak in measure, mention him with pleasure, 
Weighed his worth, and his warlike achievements 
Mightily commended, as 'tis meet one praise his 
Liegelord in words and love him in spirit, 
When forth from his body he fares to destruction. 
So lamented mourning the men of the Geats, 
Fond-loving vassals, the fall of their lord, 
Said he was kindest of kings under heaven. 
Gentlest of men, most winning of manner, 
Friendliest to folk-troops and fondest of honor." ^ 

Other Anglo-Saxon poems that deserve mention are 
"The Seafarer," *' Deor's Complaint," ''The Fight at 
Maldon," and "Judith." The former deal with the hard- 
ships and sorrows of life ; the latter breathe the martial 
spirit of the Teutonic race. Besides these and other secu- 
lar poems, there is a cycle of religious poetry dating from 
the eighth or ninth centuries. It was stimulated by the 
work of Caedmon. "Others after him," says Bede, "tried 
to make religious poems, but none could vie with him, for 
he did not learn the art of poetry from men, nor of men, 
but from God." This religious poetry is usually based on 
Scripture or on legends of saints. Cynewulf, a North- 

^ Translation of J. L. Hall. 



28 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

umbrian poet of the eighth century, was the author of 
several religious poems of acknowledged excellence, among 
which are the '* Passion of St. Juliana," the " Christ," and 
'* Elene, or the Finding of the Cross." 

Not many sovereigns deserve a place in literature be- 
cause of their own writings. But Alfred was as great 
with the pen as with the sword. His history, around 
which legendary stories have gathered, reads in its reality 
like a piece of fiction. Known ages ago as the " darling 
of the English," he grows in greatness with the passing 
years. The unfavorable surroundings of his life serve as 
a foil to set off his virtues. 

He was born in 849. A part of his childhood was spent 
in Rome, while much of its ancient splendor still remained. 
At the residence of King ^thelwulf, his father, he learned 
not only the manly sports of the Anglo-Saxon youth, — 
running, leaping, wrestling, hunting, — but also the vari- 
ous occupations pertaining to the household, the workshop, 
and the tilling of the soil. He had a passion for the 
heroic songs of his people, and even before learning to 
read he had committed many of them to memory. Blessed 
with a healthful precocity of mind, he treasured up all this 
varied knowledge, and utilized it with rare wisdom in after 
years. 

At the age of twenty-three he ascended the throne, and 
spent a considerable part of his subsequent life in con- 
flict with the Danes, who in great numbers were making 
a descent upon the cultivated districts of England and 
France for the sake of pillage. At one time he was re- 
duced to the extremity of fleeing with a few followers 
before the pagan invaders. But adversity, as with every 



OLD ENGLISH OR ANGLO-SAXON PERIOD. 29 

vigorous nature, called forth a greater energy and determi- 
nation. Gathering about him a body of strong and true 
men, he at length turned upon the foe, surprised and de- 
feated them, and conquered a favorable peace. By the 
superior military organization of his people, by the found- 
ing of an English navy, and, above all, by his preeminent 
ability as a commander, he succeeded in repelling all sub- 
sequent attacks by the northern invaders, and saved Eng- 
land to the Anglo-Saxon race. 

In the leisure that followed his treaties of peace, Alfred 
devoted himself assiduously to the elevation and welfare 
of his people. He rebuilt ruined towns, restored demol- 
ished monasteries, established a fixed code of laws, and 
encouraged every form of useful industry. The king him- 
self set the example of diligent labor. By means of six 
wax candles, which, lighted in succession, burned twenty- 
four hours, he introduced a rigid system into his work. 
He carried with him a little book in which he noted the 
valuable thoughts that occurred to him from time to time. 
When he came to the throne, the learning which a century 
before had furnished Europe with some of its most emi- 
nent scholars had fallen into decay. " To so low a depth 
has learning fallen among the English nation," he says, 
*' that there have been very few on this side of the Hum- 
ber who were able to understand the English of their ser- 
vice, or to turn an epistle out of Latin into English ; and 
I know that there were not many beyond the Humber who 
could do it." 

With admirable tact and wisdom he set about remedy- 
ing the evil. He studied Latin himself that he might 
provide his people with useful books ; he invited learned 



30 ENGLISH LITERATURE, 

scholars from the Continent to his court ; and he estab- 
hshed in the royal palace a school for the instruction of 
noble youth. His efforts were grandly successful ; and 
in less than a generation England was again blessed with 
intelligence and prosperity. Among the books he trans- 
lated into Anglo-Saxon were Bede's " Ecclesiastical His- 
tory " ; Orosius's " Universal History," the leading text- 
book on that subject in the monastic schools for several 
centuries ; and Boethius's '' Consolations of Philosophy," a 
popular book among thoughtful people during the Middle 
Ages. These translations were not always literal. Alfred 
rather performed the work of editor, paraphrasing, omit- 
ting, adding, as best served his purpose. In the work of 
Boethius he frequently departed from the text to introduce 
reflections of his own. To him belongs the honor of hav- 
ing furnished England with its first body of Hterature in 
the native tongue. 

He died in 901. The governing purpose of his life he 
pointed out in a single sentence : " This I can now truly 
say, that so long as I have lived, I have striven to live 
worthily, and after my death to leave my memory to my 
descendants in good works." In him the Anglo-Saxon 
stock reached its highest development. His character was 
based on a profound belief in the abiding presence of God. 
But rising above the ascetic spirit of his time, he devoted 
himself to the duties of his royal station. To great vigor 
in action he added the force of patient and invincible en- 
durance. While he watched with capacious intellect over 
the interests of his entire realm, he led with great sim- 
plicity a genial and affectionate life with his family and 
friends. After ages have made no mistake in calling him 
Alfred the Great. 



MIDDLE ENGLISH OR FORMATIVE PERIOD. 



PRINCIPAL WRITERS. 

History. — "Anglo-Saxon Chronicle" (concluded 1154). 
William of Malmesbury (1095-1 142), Latin Chronicler. " De Gestis 
Regum Anglorum," etc. 

Matthew Paris (i 195-1259), Latin Chronicler. "Historia Major," etc. 

Metrical Chronicles. — Layamon (twelfth century), " Brut/' 
or Chronicles of Britain. 

Robert of Gloucester (f 1300), " Rhyming Chronicles of Britain." 
Robert Manning (t 1270), "Chronicles of England." 

Religion. — John Wycliffe (i 324-1 384). Tracts, Sermons, Transla- 
tion of the Bible. 

Ormin (thirteenth century), "Ormulum." 

Langland (fourteenth century), "Vision of Piers the Plowman." 

Miscellaneous Poetry.— John Gower (1327-1408), "Speculum 
Meditantis" (French), "Vox Clamantis" (Latin), "Confessio Amantis" 
(English), etc. 

GREAf REPRESENTATIVE WRITER. 
Geoffrey Chaucer. 



II. 

MIDDLE ENGLISH OR FORMATIVE PERIOD. 

(1066-1400.) 

Limits of period — Normans — Their character — Norman Conquest 

— Modern Enghsh — Social condition of England — Existing evils 

— Literary development — Esteem for learning — Trouv^re poetry 

— "Chanson de Roland" — Arthurian cycle — Italian influence — 
History, romance, religion — "Anglo-Saxon Chronicle" — Latin 
Chroniclers — Lyrical poetry — Layamon's " Brut " — Robert of 
Gloucester — Robert Manning — WyclifFe — Ormin — Langland — 
Gower — Chaucer. 

The designation Middle English or Formative Period is 
applied to the centuries lying between the Norman Con- 
(juest and the death of Chaucer. It is a period of great 
importance for English history and Enghsh literature. 
England passed under a succession of alien rulers, the 
state of society underwent a great change, and our lan- 
guage approached its modern form. 

The name of Normans is given to the Scandinavians 
who, at the beginning of the tenth century, conquered a 
home in the northern part of France. They speedily 
adopted the language and customs of the subjugated 
country, and rapidly advanced in refinement and culture. 
By intermarriage with the native population, a vivacious 
Celtic element was introduced into the grave Teutonic dis- 



34 ENGLISH LITERATURE, 

position. Though of kindred blood with the Anglo- 
Saxons, the Normans, by their stay in France, developed 
a new, and in many respects admirable, type of character. 

Along with their native Teutonic strength they acquired 
a versatile and imitative temper, which made them accessi- 
ble to new ideas, and prepared them to be leaders in 
general progress. Losing their slow, phlegmatic tempera- 
ment, they became impulsive and impatient of restraint. 
Their intellects acquired a nimble quality, quick in dis- 
cernment and instantaneous in decision. Delicacy of 
feeling produced aversion to coarse pleasures. They de- 
lighted in a gay social life, with hunting, hawking, showy 
equipage, and brilliant festivities. Diplomacy in a meas- 
ure supplanted daring frankness. Brilliant superficiality 
took the place of grave thoughtfulness. Such were the 
people that were to rule in England, to introduce their 
language and customs, and, amalgamated at last, to impart 
a needed element to the English character. 

In 1066 William, Duke of Normandy, landed on the 
English coast to enforce his claim to the English throne.. 
In the battle of Hastings he gained a complete victory 
over the force under Harold, and won the title of Con- 
queror. He distributed England in the form of fiefs 
among his followers, and reduced the Anglo-Saxon popu- 
lation to a condition of serfdom. Feudal castles were 
erected in every part of England ; and the barons or lords, 
supported by the labors of a great body of dependants, 
lived in idleness and luxury. These baronial residences 
became centres of knightly culture. Here noble youths 
acquired courtly graces, and wandering minstrels enter- 
tained the assembled household with their songs. Brilliant 



MIDDLE ENGLISH OR FORMATLVE PERL0l3. 35 

tournaments from time to time brought together the 
beauty and chivalry of the whole realm. French became 
the social language of the ruling classes ; and the Anglo- 
Saxons, reduced to servitude, were despised. It required 
many generations to break down this harsh antagonism. 

But toward the close of the period, especially in the 
fourteenth century, the people of England became more 
homogeneous. The Normans coalesced with the Anglo- 
Saxons, and added new elements to the Enghsh character. 
At the same time the Anglo-Saxon language, which had 
hitherto maintained its highly inflected character, made a 
gradual transition into modern English. It gave up its 
complicated inflections, and received into its vocabulary a 
host of foreign elements, chiefly from the French. The 
new tongue, which gradually supplanted French and 
Latin, gained official recognition in 1362, when it became 
the language of the courts of law : and the following year 
it was employed in the speech made at the opening of 
Parliament. 

The social condition of England in the thirteenth and 
fourteenth centuries was intimately related to the first 
great outbreak of English literature. A restraint was set 
upon absolutism by the provisions of the Great Charter. 
The growth of cities and towns had been rapid, and there 
existed in all parts of England a wealthy and influential 
citizen class. The serfs of the time of the Conquest had 
risen to the rank of free peasants. Parliament was divided 
into two bodies, and the people acquired a growing influ- 
ence in the affairs of government. The amalgamation of 
the two races that had lived side by side for centuries was 
gradually completed, and the great English nation, in its 



36 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

modern form, had its beginning — a nation that in its type 
of character is second to none in the history of the world. 

But many evils still existed. The nobility lived in lux- 
ury and extravagance, while the peasants lived in squalor 
and want. The public taste was coarse, and the state 
of morals low. Highwaymen rendered travel unsafe. 
Through gross abuses of its power and the extensive cor- 
ruption of its representatives, the church had in large 
measure lost its hold upon the people. Immense reve- 
nues, five times greater than that of the crown, were paid 
into the coffers at Rome. Half the soil of England was 
in the hands of the clergy. The immorality of the friars 
was notorious, and provoked vigorous denunciation and 
resistance. Yet there were faithful pastors and prelates, 
who, like Chaucer's poor parson, taught " Christes lore" 
and followed it themselves ; and magnificent cathedrals 
were built to stand as objects of admiration for succeeding 
ages. 

As compared with the preceding period, literature 
exhibits great expansion. It gained in variety and extent 
— a result that was due to a number of cooperative causes. 
The crusades had a stimulating effect in Europe, and 
brought new ideas into vogue. The caliphs of Bagdad 
and Cordova became rivals in the patronage of learning, 
and for a time the Arabians became the intellectual lead- 
ers of Europe. Their schools in Spain were largely 
attended by Christian youths from other European coun- 
tries, who carried back with them to their homes the 
Arabian science, and through it gave a new impulse to 
learning in Christian nations. 

During this period learning was held in greater esteem 



MIDDLE ENGLISH OR FORMATIVE PERIOD. 37 

and prosecuted with greater vigor throughout Christian 
Europe. The monastic and cathedral schools were gen- 
erally improved. The growth of towns and cities led to 
the estabhshment of burgher schools for secular education. 
Learning was no longer confined to representatives of the 
church. The first great universities were founded in this 
period — those of Bologna, Salerno, and Paris in the 
twelfth century. The oldest colleges of Oxford and Cam- 
bridge date from this period. The universities were often 
attended by enormous numbers of students from every part 
of Europe ; there were as many as twenty thousand at the 
University of Paris at one time. " A new fervor of study," 
to use the words of Green, " sprang up in the West from 
its contest with the more cultured East. Travellers, like 
Adelard of Bath, brought back the first rudiments of physi- 
cal and mathematical science from the schools of Cordova 
or Bagdad. In the twelfth century a classical revival re- 
stored Caesar and Virgil to the hst of monastic studies. 
The scholastic philosophy sprang up in the schools of 
Paris. The Roman law was revived by the imperialist 
doctors of Bologna. The long mental activity of feudal 
Europe broke up like ice before a summer's sun." ^ 

In France the trouvere produced long narrative poems, 
full of legend, war, and chivalry. These poems are 
grouped in three principal cycles, of which Charlemagne, 
Alexander, and King Arthur are respectively the heroes. 
They are known as " Chansons de Geste," and were very 
popular in France and England. They were sung or re- 
cited by minstrels, and in England elevated the taste, sup- 
plied literary materials, and exerted no small influence on 

1 «♦ History of English People," Vol. i, 198. 



38 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

the language. The principal poem of the Carlovingian cy- 
cle is the "Chanson de Roland," an epic of four thousand 
lines, filled with chivalrous spirit and heroic deeds. The 
historic event which it commemorates was the invasion of 
Spain by Charlemagne in the eighth century. On the em- 
peror's return, his rear-guard, under the command of 
Roland, one of his principal paladins, was treacherously 
attacked in the passes of the Pyrenees and slain. But 
before he died Roland sounded his miraculous horn, and 
Charlemagne, who was thirty leagues in advance, returned 
and avenged his death. The poem dates from the eleventh 
century ; and, according to an old chronicle, the minstrel 
Taillefer rode in front of the Norman line at the battle of 
Hastings, and, while he tossed his sword in the air and 
caught it again, he sang the song of Roland. The fol- 
lowing lines, describing Roland's death, will serve for 

illustration : — 

" Count Roland lies beneath a pine, 

His pallid face is turned to Spain. 

His memory reverts unto the past, 

Recalling countries he had won, 

Fair France, and all his family, 

And Charlemagne, his sovereign lord, 

And Frenchmen loyal unto him. 

He cannot keep from sighs and tears, 

But not forgetful of himself, 

He begs forgiveness of his Lord." ^ 

The Arthurian cycle is still more important for Eng- 
lish literature. Near the middle of the twelfth century, 

1 " Li quens Rollanz se jut desuz un pin : 
Envers Espaigne en ad turnet sun vis. 
De plusurs choses a remembrer li prist, " etc. 

Lines 2375-2384. 



MIDDLE ENGLISH OR FORMATIVE PERIOD. 39 

Geoffrey of Monmouth, a Welsh priest, wrote in Latin 
what purported to be a history of Britain from the days 
when Brut, the grandson of ^neas, landed on its shores, 
down to the death of Cadwallo in 689. It contains the 
story of the Celtic king, Arthur, and his Round Table. It 
crossed the Channel, where Norman trotiveres expanded 
and completed the Arthurian legends. Rejturning to Eng- 
land, these legends, as we shall see, were embodied in a 
long and popular Middle English or semi-Saxon epic, con- 
taining the characters and incidents rendered familiar in 
Tennyson's " Idyls of the King." 

Italy exerted an influence scarcely less than that of 
France upon the development of English literature. In 
the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, Italy was in ad- 
vance of the rest of Europe in intellectual culture. Before 
Chaucer was born, Dante had written the " Divina Com- 
media," one of the world's imperishable poems. Petrarch, 
whose life covers the first three-quarters of the fourteenth 
century, was an enthusiastic student of the ancient classics. 
He may justly be regarded as the forerunner of the hu- 
manists, who in the following century brought about the 
great intellectual movement known as the revival of learn- 
ing. Boccaccio, his great contemporary, gave himself 
likewise to the study of antiquity. He translated the 
" Iliad " and the " Odyssey " ; but his principal work was 
the "Decameron," a collection of a hundred stories, to 
which, as will appear later, our literature is considerably 
indebted. The culture of Italy not only stimulated intel- 
lectual activity in England, but also furnished models and 
materials for literary work. 

During the period under consideration, the course of 



40 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

English literature follows three principal streams, — history, 
romance, and religion. The " Anglo-Saxon Chronicle," 
which contains the history of Britain from the invasion 
of Caesar, was completed in 1 1 54. Written in the form 
of brief annals, it is the work of many successive hands. 
King Alfred edited and expanded it. It is the earliest 
history of any Teutonic people in their own language. 
"From Alfred's time," says Freeman, "the narrative 
continues, sometimes full, sometimes meagre, sometimes 
a dry record of names and dates, sometimes rising to 
the highest flights of the prose picture or the heroic lay; 
but in one shape or other never failing us, till the pen 
dropped from the hand of the monk of Peterborough, who 
recorded the coming of Henry of Anjou." It contains, 
among other poems, " The Battle of Brunanburh," under 
date of 937, commemorating a Saxon victory over the 
Northmen : — 

" There was made flee the Northmen's chieftain, 
By need constrained, to the ship's prow 
With a little band. The bark drove afloat; 
The king departed on the fallow flood, 
His life preserved." 

Among other chronicles, which here require no further 
mention, are the Latin works of William of Malmesbury in 
the twelfth, and of Matthew Paris in the thirteenth century. 

Lyrical poems of adventure and sentiment, in which 
the influence of the troubadour may perhaps be traced, are 
not unknown. Robin Hood ballads were popular. The 
earliest English love-song that has been preserved was 
written about the year 1200. The following extract is 
modernized in spelling : — 



MIDDLE ENGLISH OR FORMATIVE PERIOD. 4 1 

" Blow, northern wind, send 
Thou me my sweeting ; blow 
Northern wind, blow, blow, blow. 
She is coral of goodness, 
She is ruby of rich fulness, 
She is crystal of clearness, 
And banner of beauty." 

The following poem on spring, which was written near 
the beginning of the thirteenth century, is full of blithe 
poetic feeling : — • 

" Sumer is i-cumen in ♦ 

Lhude 1 sing, cuccu ; 
Groweth sed, and bloweth med, 
And springeth the wde''^ nu. 

Sing, cuccu, cuccu. 
Awe bleteth after lamb, 
Louth ^ after calve cu, 
Bulluc sterteth, bucke verteth : 

Murie sing, cuccu. 

Well sings the cuccu, 
Ne swik ^ thou never nu. . 

Sing, cuccu, nu, 

Sing, cuccu." 

Layamon's "Brut," or Chronicle of Britain, a poem of 
thirty-two thousand lines, is a paraphrase of Wace's French 
version of Geoffrey of Monmouth's Chronicle, or '' Historia 
Britonum." It dates near the beginning of the thirteenth 
century. It retains the Anglo-Saxon or Old English vocab- 
ulary in its purity, less than fifty French words appearing 
in the whole poem. Its grammatical forms are known as 
semi-Saxon, and its verse wavers between the Old English 
alliteration and French rhyme and metre. All that is known 

1 Loud. 2 Wood. ^ Runneth. * Nor such. 



42 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

of the author is contained in the opening lines, in which he 
gives an account of himself and his patriotic purpose. 

" A priest was in the land, 
Layamon was he hight. 
He was Leovenath's son : 
Gracious to him be the Lord! 
He dwelt at Earnley, 
Where are noble churches, 
On the Severn's bank : 
Well there he thought, 
NqJ far from Radestone, 
Where he read books. 
It came in mind to him. 
And in his chief thought, 
That he would of the English 
The noble deeds tell : 
What they were called, 
And whence they came, 
Who the English land 
First possessed." ^ 

There are two other metrical chronicles which are in- 
teresting and valuable as showing the gradual change of 
the language during the Formative Period. Robert of 

1 " An preost wes on leoden, 
Layamon wes ihoten. 
He was Leouenathe's sone : 
Lithe him beo drihte ! 
He wonede at Ernleye, 
At aethelen are chirechen, 
Uppon Seuarne stathe : 
Sel thar him thuhte, 
On fest Radestone, 
Ther he bock radde. 
Hit com him on mode 
And on his mern thonke," etc. 

(Cz>. 1205.) 



MIDDLE ENGLISH OR FORMATIVE PERIOD. 43 

Gloucester wrote near the close of the thirteenth century. 
His work appears to be a translation of a French poem, 
which is dependent chiefly on the older chronicles already 
mentioned. It contains the story of King Lear, which 
begins as follows : — 

" After King Bathulf, Lear his son was king, 
And reigned sixty years well through everything, 
Upon the Soar he built a famous city. 
And called it Leicester after his own name. 
Three daughters had this king, the eldest Goneril, 
The middle one hight Regan, the youngest Cordelia. 
The father loved them all enough, but the youngest most : 
For she was best and fairest, and to haughtiness drew least." ^ 

The poem contains ten thousand lines. It will be noted, 
in examining the original, that rhyme and metre, in imita- 
tion of the French, has been fully adopted. 

The last of the metrical chroniclers was Robert Man- 
ning, who translated from a French original. His work 
dates from about 1330, and, as will be seen, the language 
has made considerable progress toward the modern form. 

" Lordynges that be now here, 
If ye will listene and lere '-^ 
All the storey of Inglande 
Als ^ Robert Manning wryten it fand, 

1 " Aftur Kyng Bathulf, Leir ys sone was kyng, 
And regned sixti yer wel thoru alle thing, 
Up the water of Soure a city of gret fame 
He endede, and clepede yt Leicestre, aftur ys owne name. 
Thre doghtren this kyng hadde, the eldeste Gornorille, 
The mydmost hatte Regan, the yongest Cordeille. 
The fader hem louede alle enogh, ac the yongost mest : 
For heo was best and fairest, and to hautenesse drow lest." 

„T , (ay. 1275.) 

^ Learn. 3 As. 



44 ENGLISH LITERATURE, 

And on Inglysch has it schewed, 
Not for the lerid ^ hot for the lewed,^ 
For tho ^ that in this land wonn ^ 
That the Latyn ne Frankys conn.'" ^ 

The chronicle professes to give the history of England 
from "the tyme of Sir Noe " to the last of the Celtic 
kings. 

Religion has a prominent place in literature. As one 
of the great interests of our race, it has given rise, directly 
and indirectly, to a vast body of writings. This is particu- 
larly true of the English people, whose history and char- 
acter have led them to give much thought to ecclesiastical 
and religious truth. The religious condition of England 
during the Middle English Period is reflected in several 
noteworthy works. The people of England were begin- 
ning to emancipate themselves from ecclesiastical tutelage ; 
and while holding earnestly to religion, they were not slow 
in recognizing errors of doctrine and immorality of life 
on the part of representatives of the church. 

Wycliffe, who has been called the morning star of the 
Reformation, was connected with the University of Ox- 
ford, where his learning, ability, and integrity gave him 
great influence. He was strongly anti-papal in his feel- 
ing, and denied the right of the pope to interfere in tem- 
poral matters. He maintained the preeminent authority 
of the Scriptures in matters of faith and duty. He pro- 
mulgated his doctrines in tracts, and through an itinerant 
ministry, whom he organized and instructed. His princi- 
pal claim, however, to a place in English literature, rests 
upon his translation of the Bible, which was completed 

^ Learned. ^ Ignorant. ^ Those. ^ Dwell. ^ Know. 



MIDDLE ENGLISH OR FORMATIVE PERIOD. 45 

about 1380. It is regarded as the earliest Middle English 
classic, and Marsh calls it '' the golden book of Old Eng- 
Ush philology." The following extract will illustrate its 
style : '' And he spak to hem this parable, and seide, What 
man of you that hath an hundrith scheep, and if he hath 
lost oon of hem, whethir he leeueth not nynti and nyne 
in desert, and goith to it that perischide, til he fynde it ? 
And whanne he hath foundun it, he ioieth, and leyith it 
on his schuldris ; and he cometh hoom, and clepith togidir 
hise freendis and neighboris, and seith to hem. Be ye glad 
with me, for I have founde my scheep, that hadde per- 
ischid. And I seie to you, so ioye shal be in heuene on 
o synful man doynge penaunce, more than on nynti and 
nyne iuste, that have no nede to penaunce." 

Wy cliff e's innovating and reformatory labors were not 
to pass unchallenged. He was summoned before different 
ecclesiastical courts, and condemned in' several papal bulls ; 
but he escaped punishment through the patronage of pow- 
erful friends, who sympathized with his teachings. He 
died in 1384. But his body was not permitted to rest in 
peace. His doctrines having been condemned by the 
Council of Constance, his body was exhumed and burned, 
and the ashes scattered on the Avon. His fate has been 
celebrated by Wordsworth in one of his ecclesiastical 
sonnets : — 

" This deed accurst, » 

An emblem yields to friends and enemies, 
How the bold teacher's doctrine, sanctified 
By truth, shall spread, throughout the world dispersed." 

An important work philologically is '' Ormulum," a met- 
rical paraphrase of those portions of the New Testament 



46 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

appointed to be read in the daily service of the church, 

accompanied by a homily. It is named from its author, 

who was — , 

" Orrmin bi name nemmneda. ' 

The orthography of the poem is peculiar, as Ormin 
made it a rule to double the consonant after each short 
vowel. Its date may be fixed approximately at 1200. In 
the form in which it has come down to us, it comprises 
about twenty thousand lines. The following passage from 
the dedication will serve for illustration : — 

" Nu, brotherr Wallterr, brotherr min 
Affterr the flaeshess kinde ; 
And brotherr min i Crisstenndom 
Thurrh fulluhht ^ and thurrh trowwthe ; 
And brotherr min i Godess hus, 
Yet o the thride - wise, 
Thurrh thatt witt ^ hafenn takenn ba * 
An reghellboc to follghenn,^ 
Unnderr kanunnkess had ^ and lif, 
Swa summ '^ Sannt Awwstin sette ; 
Ice hafe don swa summ thu badd, 
And forthedd te thin wille, 
Ice hafe wennd inntill Ennglissh 
Goddspelless hallghe lare ^ 
AfFterr thatt httle witt tatt me 
Min Drihhtin^ hafethth lenedd." 

Still more important, for its historical and literary value, 
is Langland's **The Vision of William concerning Piers 
the Plowman," a poem of some twenty-five hundred lines, 
retaining the old Saxon alliteration. It sets forth in seven 

1 Through baptism. * Both. '^ As. 

2 Third. ^ One rule book to follow. ^ Holy lore. 
^ We. 6 Canonhood. ^ I-ord. 



MIDDLE ENGLISH OR FORMATIVE PERIOD. 47 

'* passus " or cantos a series of visions, in which the con- 
dition of the State and the Church is clearly reflected. 
''Itwas," says Marsh, *' a calm, allegorical exposition of 
the corruptions of the State, of the Church, and of social 
life, designed, not to rouse the people to violent resistance 
or bloody vengeance, but to reveal to them the true causes 
of the evils under which they were suffering, and to secure 
the reformation of those grievous abuses by a united exer- 
tion of the moral influence which generally accompanies 
the possession of superior physical strength." It was 
written about 1362, and attained a wide popularity, no 
fewer than forty-five manuscripts being still extant. The 
opening Unes are as follows : — 

"In a somer seson whan soft was the sonne, 
I shope me in shroudes 1 as I a shepe^ were, 
In habite as an heremite unholy of workes, 
Went wyde in this world wondres to here. 
As on a May mornynge on Mah-erne hulles,^ 
Me byfel a ferly of fairy,^ me thoughte ; 
I was wery forwandred ^ and went me to reste 
Under a brode banke bi a bornes ^ side, 
' And as I lay and lened and loked in the wateres, 
I slombred in a slepyng it sweyved ^ so merye.'' 

John Gower, a contemporary and friend of Chaucer, was 
of noble family. In dedicating a book to him, Chaucer 
styled him the "moral Gower," a term which has since 
adhered to his name and which indicates the prevailing pur- 
pose of his poetry. He wrote three principal poems,— 
the " Speculum Meditantis " in French, which has been lost, 

1 Arrayed myself in garments. * Wonder of enchantment. 

2 Shepherd. ^ Weary with wandering. 



3 Hills, 



6 Brook. " Sounded. 



48 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

the ''Vox Clamantis" in Latin, and the " Confessio Aman- 
tis " in English. The " Confessio Amantis," or " Lover's 
Confession," is a dialogue between a lover and a priest of 
Venus. It is written in smooth iambic tetrameter verse, 
and contains, somewhat after the manner of the " De- 
cameron," a succession of tales drawn from Ovid, French 
" Chansons de Geste," the Bible, Boccaccio, and other 
sources. "Gower had some effect," says Hallam, "in ren- 
dering the language less rude, and exciting a taste for verse ; 
if he never rises, he never sinks low ; he is always sensible, 
polished, perspicuous." In the original prologue, Gower 
tells us that the poem was written at the request of 
Richard II., who met him while rowing on the Thames : — 

"And so befell as I came nigh 
Out of my bote, whan he me sigh, 
He bad me come into his barge. 
And whan I was with him at large, 
Amonges other thinges said, 
He hath this charge upon me laid 
And bad me do my besinesse, 
That to his highe worthynesse 
Some newe thing I shoiilde boke, 
That he himself it mighte loke 
After the forme of my writing." 

The language of Wychffe's version of the Bible and of 
Gower's "Confessjo Amantis" is in the Mercian dialect, or 
in the language spoken in central England. Chaucer wrote 
in the same dialect. It was largely through the influence of 
these three great writers, together with the influence of Ox- 
ford and Cambridge, that the language of central England 
gained the ascendency over the dialect of northern and south- 
ern England, and became the mother of Modern EngHsh. 



GEOFFREY CHAUCER, 49 



GEOFFREY CHAUCER. 

Above all his contemporaries of the fourteenth century 
stands the figure of Geoffrey Chaucer. Among all the 
writers that we have considered, he is the first to show the 
spirit and freedom of the modern world. Two recent 
poets have accorded him generous recognition and praise. 
In his " Dream of Fair Women," Tennyson calls him "the 
morning star of song," — 

" Dan Chaucer, the first warbler, whose sweet breath 
Preluded those melodious bursts that fill 
The spacious times of great Elizabeth 
With sounds that echo still.''' 

In a sonnet on Chaucer, Longfellow says : — 

• 

" He is the poet of the dawn, who wrote 
The Canterbury Tales, and his old age 
Made beautiful with song ; and as I read, 
I hear the crowing cock, I hear the note 
Of lark and linnet, and from every page 
Rise odors of ploughed field or flowery mead." 



c 



Like Homer in Greece, Chaucer stands preeminent in 
the early literature of England; and among the great 
English poets of subsequent ages, not more than three or 
four — Shakespeare, Spenser, Milton, Tennyson — deserve 
to be placed in the same rank. 

As with some other great writers, comparatively little is 
known of Chaucer's life. The most painstaking investiga- 
tions have been comparatively fruitless in details. He was 



50 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

born in London about 1340. His father was a vintner, 
and it is not improbable that Geoffrey sometimes lent him 
assistance. In the " Pardoner's Tale " there is an interest- 
ing passage which shows Chaucer's acquaintance with the 
different French and Spanish wines, and which contains 
a warning against the dangers of drunkenness : — 

" A lecherous thing is wyne, and dronkenesse 
Is full of stryving and of wrecchednesse.'" 

Nothing definite is known in regard to his education. 
The opinion formerly held that he studied at Cambridge 
or Oxford is without satisfactory foundation. Yet his 
works show that he was a man of learning. Besides his 
knowledge of French and ItaUan, he was acquainted with 
the classics, and with every other branch of scholastic 
learning current in his day. 

In the year 1357 an authentic record shows him attached 
to the housefiold of Lady Elizabeth, wife of Prince Lionel, 
in the capacity of a page. This position was highly favor- 
able to his general culture. It gave him ''the benefit of 
society of the highest refinement, in personal attendance 
on a young and spirited prince of the blood. He had his 
imagination fed by scenes of the most brilliant court fes- 
tivities, rendered more imposing by the splendid tri- 
umphs with which they were connected." It secured him 
throughout his long career the advantage of royal patronage. 
• About the time he attained his majority, he fell in love 
with a lady of the court above his rank. His passion was 
not requited — a fact that inspired his earliest poem, "The 
Compleynte unto Pite." For several years he dared not 
reveal his affection ; and when at last he did so, he found 



GEOFFREY CHAUCER. 5 I 

pity dead in the lady's heart. But still he pleads for love, 
and vows a lasting fidelity : — 

" Let som streem of your light on me be sene 
That love and drede you, ay lenger the more. 
For, sothly, for to seyne, I here the sore, 
And, though I be not cunning for to pleyne, 
For goddes love, have mercy on my peyne." 

In 1359 he accompanied Edward III. in an invasion of 

France ; and having been captured by the French, he was 

ransomed by the EngHsh king for sixteen pounds. He 

was long attached to the court; he filled various pubHc 

offices, and served on no fewer than seven diplomatic 

embassies to the Continent. Among other positions, he 

filled the office of comptroller of customs in the port of 

London ; but, Hke many others of strong literary bent, he 

appears to have felt the irksomeness of his routine duties. 

In an autobiographic touch in the '' Hous of Fame," we 

read : — 

" For whan thy labour doon al is, 

And hast y-maad thy rekeninges, 

In stede of reste and nevve thinges, 

Thou gost hoom to thy house anoon ; 

And, also domb as any stoon, 

Thou sittest at another boke, 

Til fully daswed ^ is thy loke, 

And livest thus as an hermyte. 

Although thyn abstinence is lyte." ^ 

Before going to Italy on a diplomatic mission in 1378, 
Chaucer appointed Gower as one of his trustees to repre- 
sent him in his absence. This fact seems to prove the 
existence of intimate relations between the two poets. If 

1 Dazed. 2 Little, small. 



52 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

we may trust Gower's statement in a passage of the "Con- 
fessio Amantis," Chaucer was his disciple — though cer- 
tainly greater than his master. 

" And grete well Chaucer, when ye mete, 
As my disciple and my poete. 
For in the floures of his youth, 
In sondry wise, as he well couth, 
Of dittees and of songes glade, 
The which he for my sake made. 
The lond fulfilled is over all. 
Whereof to him in speciall 
Above all other I am most holde." ^ 

The time and circumstances of Chaucer's marriage are 
involved in obscurity, though it is tolerably certain that 
his domestic life was unhappy. At all events, his refer- 
ences to marriage in his earlier writings are decidedly 
cynical. In the '' Lenvoy de Chaucer a Bukton," he 
warns his friend, — 

" But thou shalt have sorow-e on thy flesh, thy lyf, 
And been thy wyves thral." 

In the *' Tale of the Wyf of Bathe," the knight, after 

a year's inquiry and consideration, returns to the queen, 

and — 

" ' My lige lady, generally,^ quod he, 

'■ Wommen desyren to have sovereyntee * 

As wel over hir housbond as hir love. 

And for to been in maistrie him above.' " 

But elsewhere he calls marriage a "great sacrament," 
and declares that — 

"A wyf is Goddes gifte verrayly." 

1 " Confessio Amantis," Bk. VIII. 



GEOFFREY CHAUCER. 53 

In 1390 Chaucer superintended the erection of scaffolds 
in Smithfield for the use of the king and queen in viewing 
the tournament which took place there that year. He 
was no doubt present at the festivities. These facts will 
explain to us the minute acquaintance with the manner of 
conducting tournaments which the poet displays' in the 
" Knight's Tale." Some of the details there given may 
be taken from the Smithfield lists : — 

" That such a noble theatre as it was 
I dar wel sayn that in this world ther nas. 
The circuit a myle was aboute. 
Walled of stoon, and diched al withoute." 

But his political career was not one of uninterrupted 
prosperity. In 1386 he was elected a member of Padia- 
ment for the shire of Kent ; but the same year, through a 
change in the government, he lost his office of comptroller 
of customs. This incident is supposed to have inspired 
the ballad on ''Truth " : — 

" Flee fro the prees,i and dwelle with sothfastnesse,^ 
Suffyce unto ^ thy good, though hit be smal ; 
For hord hath hate, and climbing tikelnesse,* 
Frees hath envye, and wile blent overal/'^ 

In 1399, when he was again ia financial straits, he sent 
to King Henry IV. a complaint about his poverty. It is 
entitled, '' A Compleynt to his Purs " : — 

" To you, my purse, and to non other wight 
Complayne I, for you be my lady dere ! 
I am so sorry, now that ye be light ; 

^ Crowd. 3 Be content with. 

^ Truth. 4 Instabihty. 

^ Happiness fails everywhere. 



54 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

For certes, but ye make me hevy chere, 
Me were as leef be leyd upon my bere ; 
For whiche unto your mercy thus I crye : 
Beth hevy ageyn, or elles mot I dye.'" 

This serio-comic piece was not fruitless, and four days 
afterward the king- doubled the poet's pension. 

In 1 391 Chaucer prepared a prose treatise on the use 
of the astrolabe for his ten-year old son Lewis, who is 
supposed to have died not long afterward. In the 
preface he apologizes for the use of English, to which, 
however, his partiality is evident : " And Lewis, yif so be 
that I shewe thee in my lighte English as trewe conclu- 
sions touching this matere, and naught only as trewe but 
as many and as subtil conclusions as ben shewed in 
Latin in any commune tretis of the Astrolabie, con ^ me 
the more thank." 

Chaucer died in circumstances of comfort and peace 
Oct. 25, 1400. His body lies in Westminster Abbey, 
where his tomb is an object of tender interest in the 
famous Poets' Corner. 

In the *' Prologue to Sir Thopas," the host of the Tabard 
and the leader of the Canterbury pilgrims draws the poet's 
portrait. After a most pathetic tale related by the prior- 
ess, Harry Bailly was the first to interrupt the silence : — 

"And than at erst he loked upon me, 
And seyde thus, ' what man arthow,' quod he ; 
' Thou lokest as thou woldest finde an hare, 
For ever upon the ground I see thee stare. 
Approache neer, and loke up merily. 
Now war you, sirs, and let this man have place ; 
He in the waast is shape as wel as I ; 

1 Grant. 



GEOFFREY CHAUCER. . 55 

This were a popet ^ in an arm t' embrace 
For any womman, smal and fair of face. 
He semeth elvish by his countenance, 
For unto no wight dooth he daliaunce.' " 

While the outward circumstances of Chaucer's life are 
so imperfectly known, we have abundant means to judge of 
his character and attainments. He is revealed to us in his 
writings. \ While associated with the court life of his time, 
he did not surrender himself to its vices and empty fri- 
volities. He was not indifferent to the enjoyments of social 
life, but, at the same time, he set his heart on higher 
things. He recognized true worth wherever he found it, 
regardless of the accident of birth or wealth. He seems 
in no small measure to have embodied the integrity and 
gentleness which he bravely ascribes to the character of 
the gentleman in the " Tale of the Wyf of Bathe " : — 

" But for ye speken of swich gentillesse 
As is descended out of old richesse, 
That therefore sholden ye be gentil men, 
Swich arrogance is nat worth an hen. 
Loke who that is most virtuous alway, 
Privee and apert, and most entendeth ay 
To do the gentil dedes that he can, 
And tak him for the grettest gentil man. 
Crist wol, we clay me of him our gentillesse, 
Nat of our eldres for hir old richesse." 

Though a man of large attainments, Chaucer was not 
overborne by the weight of his learning. His individu- 
ality had free play. In common with many other great 
poets, he was a prodigious borrower, using his lofty genius, 
not in the work of pure invention, but in glorifying ma- 

^ If this is spoken ironically, as seems to be the case, it indicates corpulency. 



56 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

terials already existing. He is a striking illustration of 
the personal element in literature. Gower and Langland 
worked in the presence of the abundant literary materials 
of the fourteenth century ; but only Chaucer had the abil- 
ity to lay hold of it and mould it into imperishable popular 
forms. 

He spent much time in reading and writing. In the 
" Legend of Good Women," he says : — 

" And as for me, though that I can but lyte, 
On bokes for to rede I me delyte. 
And to hem geve I feyth and ful credence, 
And in myn herte have hem in reverence 
So hertely, that ther is game noon 
That fro my bokes maketh me to goon.'" 

And, as we read in the " Hous of Fame," he set his 

wit, — 

" To make bokes, songes, dytees, 

In ryme, or elles in cadence," — 

and in his ardor of composition, — 

" Thou wolt make 
A-night ful ofte thyn heed to ake, 
In thy studie so thou v^^rytest, 
And ever-mo of love endytest." 

Chaucer's love of nature was remarkable, and rivalled 
his passion for books. He tells us that there is nothing 
can take him from his reading, — 

" Save certeynly, whan that the month of May 
Is comen, and that I here the fowles singe, 
And that the floures ginnen for to springe, 
Farwel my book, and my devocioun.'" 



GEOFFREY CHAUCER. 57 

His poetic nature responded to the beauties of the 
morning landscape, the matin carols of the birds, and the 
glories of the rising sun. The May-time, as may be seen 
from the prologu'e to the " Legend of Good Women," was 
his favorite season ; and long before Burns and Words- 
worth, he loved and sang of the daisy. The sight of this 
flower, as it opens to the sun, lightened his sorrow : — 

" And down on knees anon — right I me sette, 
And, as I coude, this fresshe flour I grette ; 
Kneling alwey, til hit unclosed was, 
Upon the smale, softe, swote gras." 

Chaucer's treatment of women in his works is full of 
interest. He is fond of satirizing the foibles supposed to 
be peculiar to their sex, and no pen was ever sharper. 
But he is not lost to chivalrous sentiment, and nowhere 
else can we find higher and heartier praise of womanly 
patience, purity, and truth. He appears to have written 
the " Legend of Good Women " as a kind of amends for 
the injustice done the sex in his earlier writings. And 
his real sentiments, let us hope, are found in the fol- 
lowing lines : — 

"Alas, howe may we say on hem but well, 
Of whom we were yfostered and ybore, 
And ben all our socoure, and trewe as stele, 
And for our sake ful oft they suffre sore ? 
Without women were all our joy ylore." 

There are passages in his works that are very offensive 
to modern taste ; but they are not to be charged so much 
to Chaucer's love of indecency as to the grossness of his 
age and to his artistic sense of fitness. This is his own 



58 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

apology; and in the prologue to one of his most objection- 
able stories he begs his gentle readers — 

" For Goddes love, demeth not that I seye 
Of evel entente, but that I moot reherce 
Hir tales alle, albe they bettre or werse, 
Or elles falsen som of my matere.'^ 

Then he adds the kindly warning : — 

" And therfore, who-so list it nat y-here, 
Turne over the leef, and chese another tale." 

(^ The circumstances of Chaucer's life, as will have been 
noted, were favorable for the work he was to do in Eng- 
lish literature. Langland wrote for the common people ; 
Gower addressed himself to the educated ; Chaucer, with 
a broader spirit, prepared his works for every class. His 
diligence as a student, his familiarity with the best society 
of his time, and his wide experience as a man of affairs 
at home and abroad gave him great mental breadth. 
When he reached the full maturity of his powers, he was 
admirably equipped in language, knowledge, and culture 
to produce works of surpassing excellence. In the four- 
teenth century, various dialects, as we have seen, existed 
in England ; but from this linguistic confusion, to use the 
words of Marsh, " The influence and example of Chaucer 
did more to rescue his native tongue than any other single 
cause ; and if we compare his dialect with that of any 
■writer of an earlier date, we shall find that in compass, 
flexibility, expressiveness, grace, and in all the higher 
qualities of poetical diction, he gave it at once the ut- 
most perfection which the materials at his hand would 
admit of." He made the Midland dialect, which he 



GEOFFREY CHAUCER. ' 59 

used in common with Gower and Wycliffe, the national 
language. 

I Chaucer's literary career may be divided into three 
periods. The first period, which extends to his Italian 
journey in 1372, is characterized by the influence of 
French models. The two most important works of this 
period are the " Book of the Duchesse," written in 1369 
on the death of Blanche, the first wife of John of Gaunt, 
and a translation of the '' Roman de la Rose," a poem of 
twenty-two thousand fines dating from the preceding 
century. It is an allegorical presentation of "the whole 
art of love." Only a part of Chaucer's translation, which 
follows the original closely, has been preserved. 

The second period, extending from 1373 to 1384, is 
characterized by an Itafian influence, which showed itself 
in a more refined taste and more elegant handling of ma- 
terial. Within this period, Chaucer went to Italy on three 
different diplomatic missions. It is possible that he met 
Boccaccio and Petrarch. Be that as it may, his mission 
evidently led to a greater interest in Italian literature, 
which was then the most notable in Europe, and from 
which he borrowed some of his choicest stories. To the 
Italian period are to be ascribed, among other poems, 
" Troilus and Criseyde," taken from Boccaccio, and the 
" Hous of Fame," in which the influence of Dante can 
be clearly seen. Italy helped Chaucer to unfold and 
mature his strong native powers. 
(^ The third period in his literary career is distinctly 
English. Instead of depending upon foreign models, 
the poet walked independently in his conscious strength. 
It was during this period, extending from about 1384 to 



6o ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

the time of his death, that his greatest work — the " Can- 
terbury Tales" — was produced. The idea of the work 
seems to have been suggested by Boccaccio's " Decam- 
eron." During the prevalence of the plague in Florence, 
in 1 348, seven ladies and three gentlemen, all young, rich, 
and cultivated, retire to a beautiful villa a few miles from 
the city ; and in order to pass the time more agreeably 
in their seclusion, they relate to one another a series of 
tales. Such is the plan of the '' Decameron." 

Chaucer adopted the idea of a succession of stories, 
but invented a happier occasion for their narration. One 
evening in April a company of twenty-nine pilgrims, of 
various conditions in life, meet at the Tabard, a London 
inn, on their way to the shrine of Thomas a Becket at 
Canterbury. At supper the jolly, amiable host offers to 
accompany them as guide ; and in order to relieve the 
tedium of the journey, he proposes that each one shall 
tell two tales on the way to the tomb and the same num- 
ber on their return. The one narrating the best tale is 
to receive a supper at the expense of the others. 

The poet joins the party; and in the "Prologue" he 
gives us, with great artistic and dramatic power, a 
description of the pilgrims. The various classes of Eng- 
lish society — a knight, a lawyer, a doctor, an Oxford 
student, a miller, a prioress, a monk, a farmer, and. 
others — are all placed before us with marvellous dis- 
tinctness. It is a living picture of contemporary life, 
showing us the features, dress, manners, customs, and 
social and religious interests of the English people 
in the latter half of the fourteenth century. Nothing 
escapes the microscopic scrutiny of the poet. Yet with 



GEOFFREY CHAUCER. ^ 6 1 

this keenness of observation and wonderful power to 
detect the pecuHarities. and foibles of men, there is no 
admixture of cynicism. There is humor and satire, but 
they are thornless. All of Chaucer's later writings are 
pervaded by an atmosphere of genial humor, kindness, 
tolerance, humanity. 

Chaucer begins his sketches of the Canterbury pil- 
grims with the knight, a model of chivalrous heroism. 
Notwithstanding the great achievements of the knight 
in various parts of Europe and Africa, he still — 

" Was of his port as meke as is a mayde. 
He nevere yit no vileinye ne sayde 
In al his lyf unto no maner wight. 
He was a verray perfight gentil knight." 

The portrait of the prioress, Madame Eglantine, — 
" That of hire smylyng was ful symple and coy," — 

exhibits the poet's close observation : — 

" At mete wel i-taught was sche withalle ; 

Sche leet no morsel from hire lippes falle, 

Ne wette hire fyngres in hire sauce deepe. 
****** 

But for to speken of hire conscience, 

Sche was so charitable and so pitous 

Sche wolde weepe if that sche sawe a mous 

Caught in a trappe, if it were deed or bledde." 

The decadence of the church — the love of ease, 
pleasure, wealth, and power, that had taken possession 
of many of its representatives — is reflected in the 
sketches of the monk, the friar, and the pardoner, — 

''Whose walet lay byforn him in his lappe, 
Bret-ful of pardoun come from Rome al hoot." 



62 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

The friar was a licentiate of his order, and — 

" Ful sweetely herde he confessioun, 
And plesaunt was his absolucioun ; 
He was an esy man to geve penaunce, 
Ther as he wiste have a good pitaunce ; 
For unto a poure ordre for to give 
Is signe that a man is wel i-schrive, 
For if he gaf, he dorste make avaunt, 
He wiste that a man was repentaunt." 

But in contrast with these unworthy representatives 

of the church stands the *' poure Persoun of a toun," 

showing us that genuine piety was not extinct. Chaucer 

seems to dwell with tender partiality upon the portrait : — 

" A good man was ther of reHgioun, 
And was a poure Persoun of a toun ; 
But riche he was of holy thought and werke. 

He was also a lerned man, a clerk. 
****** 
He waytede after no pompe and reverence, 
Ne makede him a spiced conscience, 
But Cristes lore, and his apostles twelve^ 
He taught, but first he folwede it himselve." 

Among other characters that must be dismissed with 

a word is the Oxford student, — 

" As lene was his hors as is a rake, 
And he was not right fat, I undertake." 

And the lawyer, — 

" Nowher so besy a man as he ther nas, 
And yit he seemede besier than he was." 

And the doctor, — 

" Who kepte that he wan in pestilence : 
For gold in physik is a cordial, 
Therefore he loved gold in special." 



GEOFFREY CHAUCER. 63 

The tales that follow the '* Prologue " — the whole num- 
ber was never completed — are admirably adapted to the 
character of the narrators. They include the whole circle 
of mediaeval literature, — the romance of chivalry, the 
legends of saints, the apologue and allegorical story, the 
theological treatise, and the coarse tale of immorality 
and cunning. The tales are told with ease, rapidity, and 
grace. They abound in humor and pathos ; and among 
all the works composed on the same general plan, the 
'' Canterbury Tales " is greatest. 



64 ENGLISH LITERATURE, 



ADDENDUM ON CHAUCER'S DICTION AND 
VERSIFICATION. 

The language of Chaucer exhibits the fusion of Teutonic and French 
elements. Dropping most of the Anglo-Saxon inflections, it passes 
from a synthetic to an analytic condition, in which the relations of 
words are expressed, not by different terminations, but by separate 
words. It is essentially modern, but the following peculiarities are to 
be noted. The plural of nouns is usually formed by the ending es^ 
which is pronounced as a distinct syllable ; but in words of more than 
one syllable, the ending is s. Instead of es^ we sometimes meet with 
is and iis. Some nouns which originally ended in an have cii or ;/; 
as, asschen, ashes ; been, bees ; eyen, eyes. The possessive or genitive 
case, singular and plural, is usually formed by adding es ; as, his lordes 
werre (wars) ; foxes tales. But en is sometimes used in the plural ; as, 
his eyen sight. The dative case singular ends in e-, as, holte, bedde. 
The adjective is inflected. After demonstrative and possessive adjec- 
tives and the definite article the adjective takes the ending e-, as, the 
yonge sonne ; his halfe cours. But in adjectives of more than one 
syllable this e is usually dropped. The plural of adjectives is formed 
by adding e-, as, sniale fowles. But adjectives of more than one 
syllable, and all adjectives in the predicate, omit the e. The compara- 
tive is formed by the addition of <?r, though the Anglo-Saxon form re 
is found in a few words ; as, derre, dearer ; ferre, farther. The per- 
sonal pronouns are as follows : — 

SINGULAR. PLURAL. 

Norn. I, ich, ik we 

Poss. min (myn), mi (my) our, oure 

Obj. me us 

Norn, thou (thow, tow) ye 

Poss. thin (thyn), thi (thy) your, youre 

Obj. the, thee yow, you 



GEOFFREY CHAUCER. 65 



Masculine. 


Feminine. 


Neuter. 


All Genders. 


Nom. he 


she, sche 


hit, it, yt 


thei, they 


Poss. his 


hire, hir 


his 


here, her, hir 


Obj. him 


hire, hir, here 


hit, it, yt 


hem 



The present indicative pkn-al of verbs ends in en or c, as, we loven 
or love. The infinitive ends in en or e-, as, speken, speke.^ to speak. 
The present participle usually ends in yng or yjige. The past participle 
of strong verbs ends in en or e, and (as well as the past participle of 
weak verbs) is often preceded by the prefix y or /, answering to the 
Anglo-Saxon and modern German ge; as, irontte, yclept. The following 
negative forms deserve attention : 7ia?n, am not ; nys, is not ; 7ias, 
was not ; 7ierej were not ; ?iath, hath not ; nadde, had not ; nylle, will 
not ; nolde, would not ; 7tat, 7iot, 7ioot, know^s not. Adverbs are formed 
from adjectives by adding e; as, bright e., brightly; deepe, deeply. 

The vowel sounds are closely akin to French and German. They 
may be indicated as follows : a long = a m father ; a short = a in 
aha. ^ long = a in date; e short = e in bed. /long = ee in sleep ; 
i short = z in pi7i. O long = ^ in 7iote ; short = o in 7tot. U long 
= French 71 or German u ; 71 short = ti in f/ill. A/, ei — ei in veil. 
An, aw = ow in 7i02U. Ou, ow — oit in tonr. 

Versification. — The prevailing metre in the "Canterbury Tales" is 
iambic pentameter in rhyming couplets. Occasionally there are eleven 
syllables in a line, and sometimes only nine. Shorty unemphatic 
syllables are often slurred over ; as, — 

" Sche gad | ereth flour | es par | ty white | and rede." 

Words from the French usually retain their native pronunciation ; 
that is, are accented on the last syllable. Final e is usually sounded 
as a distinct syllable except before h, a following vowel, in the personal 
pronouns oiire^ yojire, hire, here, and in many polysyllables. The ed 
of the past indicative and past participle, and the es of the plural and 
of the genitive, form separate syllables. 

In exemplification of the foregoing rules, the opening lines of the 
"Prologue" are here divided into their component iambics: — 

" Whan that | April j le, with | his schow | res swoote 
The drought | of Marche | hath per | ced to | the roote, 
And ba | thed eve | ry veyne | in. swich | licour. 
Of which I vertue | engen | dred is | the flour ; 

F 



66 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

Whan Ze j phirus | eek with | his swe | te breethe 

Enspi I red hath | in eve | ry holte | and heethe 

The ten | dre crop | pes, and | the yon | ge sonne 

Hath in | the Ram | his hal | fe cours | i-ronne, 

And sma | le few | les ma | ken me | lodie, 

That sle | pen al | the night | with o | pen eye, 

So pri I keth hem | nature | in here | corages : — 

Thanne Ion | gen folk | to gon | on pil | grimages, 

And pal | mers for | to see | ken straun | ge strondes, 

To fer I ne hal | wes, couthe | in son | dry londes ; 

And spe | cially | from eve | ry schi | res ende 

Of En I gelond | to Caunt | terbury | they w^ende, 

The ho I ly blis | ful mar | tir for | to seeke, 

That hem | hath holp | en whan ( that they | were seeke." 



FIRST CREATIVE PERIOD. 



PRINCIPAL WRITERS. 

Pre-Elizabethan. — William Caxton (1422- 1491). First English 
printer, edited and printed ninety-nine works. 

Sir Thomas More (1478-1535). Lord Chancellor, author of 
'' Utopia" (1 5 16) and "History of King Edward V.'' (iSU)- 

Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey (1517-1547)- Poet who introduced 
blank verse and the sonnet into English poetry. 

Sir Thomas Wyat (i 503-1 542). Poet, satirist, sonneteer, strictly 
following Italian models. 

Elizabethan Prose. — Roger Ascham (15 15-1568). Tutor to 
Queen Elizabeth, author of " Toxophilus " (1545) and the " Schole- 
master" (1570). 

John Lyly (i 553-1606). Author of " Euphues" (1580), and drama- 
tist. 

Sir Philip Sidney (i 554-1 586). Author of ''Arcadia" (159°) and 

"The Defense of Poesie" (1595). 

Richard Hooker (i 553-1600). Clergyman, and author of "Eccle- 
siastical Polity " (1592). 

Sir Walter Raleigh (1552-1618). Soldier, sailor, courtier, statesman, 
historian, poet. Author of "Discovery of Guiana" (1596) and "His- 
tory of the World" (161 4). 

Poetry. — Thomas Sackville, Earl of Dorset ( 1 536-1 608) . Author 
of "Mirror for Magistrates" (1563) and of first English tragedy, 
"Gorboduc," acted before Queen Ehzabeth at Whitehall in 1561. 

Samuel Daniel (i 562-1619). Author of " Civil Wars " (i 595-1604), 
a poetical history of the Wars of the Roses. 

Michael Drayton (1563-1631). Author of " Polyolbion " (1613- 
1622), a poem in thirty books descriptive of the topography of England. 

67 



68 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

Drama. — Christopher Marlowe (1564-1593). Author of " Tam- 
burlaine the Great," " The Rich Jew of Malta," and •' Doctor John 
Faustus " ; a dramatist of great power, who has been called •' a second 
Shakespeare." 

Robert Greene (i 560-1 592). Author of " Alphonsus, King of 
Aragon," and other plays. In a pamphlet entitled "A Groat's Worth 
of Wit," he rails at Shakespeare as " an upstart crow, beautified with 
our feathers." 

Ben Jonson (i 573-1 637). Friend of Shakespeare, and author of 
many dramas, among which are '' Every Man in his Humor," " Cyn- 
thia's Revels," " Sejanus," and "The Alchemist." 

Philip Massinger T^ 15 84- 1640). Author of thirty-eight dramas, 
among which are " The City Madam," "The Fatal Dowry," and "A 
New Way to Pay Old Debts." The last still keeps its place upon 
the stage. 

John Webster (date of birth and death unknown) was strong in 
handling terrible subjects. Among his plays are "The Duchess of 
Malfi" and "The White Devil," which Hazlitt says come near to 
Shakespeare. 

Thomas Dekker (i 570-1 637). Author of twenty-eight plays. His 

" Satiromastix " satirizes Ben Jonson.' In another of his plays occur 

the oft-quoted lines, — 

" The best of men 

That e'er wore earth about him was a sufferer ; 

A soft, meek, patient, humble, tranquil spirit ; 

The first true gentleman that ever breathed." 

Francis Beaumont (i 586-161 5) and John Fletcher (i 579-1625) 
were joint authors of fifty-two plays, among the best of which are " The 
Maid's Tragedy," " Cupid's Revenge," and " Philaster." 

GREAT REPRESENTATIVE AUTHORS. 

Edmund Spenser. Francis Bacon. 

William Shakespeare. 



III. 

FIRST CREATIVE PERIOD. 

(1558-1625.) 

Interest of period — Barren era after Chaucer — Revival of learning 

— Inventions — Caxton and the printing-press — The Reformation 

— Condition of England — Elizabeth's character— General prog- 
ress—Influence on thought and character — Pre-EIizabethan lit- 
erature — Old ballads — Thomas More — Earl of Surrey— Sir 

Thomas Wyat — Elizabethan outburst of literature — Ascham 

Lyly — Sidney — H ooker — Raleigh — Elizabethan lyrics — Sack ville, 
Daniel, Drayton — Origin of drama — Miracle plays — Moralities — 
First comedy and tragedy — Theatres — Minor dramatists — 
Ben Jonson — Edmund Spenser — Francis Bacon — William 
Shakespeare. 

This period, which includes the reigns of Elizabeth and 
James I., is one of great interest. In the long course of 
English literature there is no other period that deserves 
more careful attention. It was the natural outcome of 
forces that had been accumulating for a hundred years. 
It is sometimes called the Ehzabethan era, because the 
successful reign of that queen supplied the opportunity for 
a splendid manifestation of literary genius. Peace, prosper- 
ity, and general intelHgence are the necessary conditions 
for the creation of a great national literature — a truth 
that finds abundant exemplification in the age of Pericles 
in Athens, of Augustus in Rome, and of Louis XIV. in 

France. While these conditions do not explain genius, 

—V 69 



70 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

which must be referred to the immediate agency of the 
Creator, they make it possible for genius to reaUze its best 
capabilities. The reign of Elizabeth, with its increase 
of intelligence and national power, furnished the occasion 
and the stimulus under which Spenser, Shakespeare, 
and Bacon produced their immortal works. At one great 
bound English literature reached an excellence that for 
variety of interest and weight of thought has scarcely 
been surpassed. 

The century and a half lying between the death of 
Chaucer and the accession of Elizabeth was an era of 
preparation. The potential forces that had called the 
father of English poetry into being seemed to subside, and 
not a single writer in either prose or poetry attained to the 
first or even to the second rank. The cause of this liter- 
ary barrenness is to be found partly in the repression of 
free inquiry by the church and Parliament, partly in the 
social disorders connected with the Wars of the Roses, 
and partly in the varied and important interests that en- 
gaged general attention. 

The century preceding the accession of Elizabeth was 
an era of awakened mind and intellectual acquisition. 
The revival of learning was an event of vast importance, 
not only in the intellectual life of England, but also of all 
Europe. It had its central point in the capture of Con- 
stantinople by the Turks in 1453, which caused many 
Greek scholars to seek refuge in Italy. As ancient learn- 
ing had already begun to receive attention there, these 
scholarly fugitives were warmly welcomed. Noble and 
wealthy patronage was not wanting ; and soon the classic 
literature of Greece and Rome was studied with almost 



FIRST CREATIVE PERIOD. 7 1 

incredible enthusiasm. The popes received the new 
learning under their protection ; libraries were founded, 
manuscripts collected, and academies established. 

Eager scholars from England, France, and Germany sat 
at the feet of Italian masters, in order afterward to bear 
beyond the Alps the precious seed of the new culture. Its 
beneficent effects soon became apparent. Greek was intro- 
duced into the great universities of England. Erasmus, 
the most brilliant scholar of his time, taught at Oxford. 
It became the fashion to study the ancient classics, and 
Elizabeth, Jane Grey, and other noble ladies are said to 
have been conversant with Plato, Xenophon, and Cicero 
in the original. The taste, the eloquence, the refined lit- 
erary culture, of Athens and pagan Rome were restored to 
the world ; and " gradually, by an insensible change, men 
were raised to the level of the great and healthy minds 
which had freely handled ideas of all kinds fifteen centuries 
before." 

The remarkable inventions and discoveries of the fif- 
teenth century contributed, in a noteworthy degree, to 
awaken intellect and lift men to a higher plane of knowl- 
edge. The printing-press was invented about the middle 
of the century, and in less than a decade it was brought to 
such perfection that the whole Bible appeared in type 
in 1456. It became a powerful aid in the revival of learn- 
ing. It at once supplanted the tedious and costly process 
of copying books by hand, and brought the repositories of 
learning within reach of the common people. 

The printing-press was introduced into England about 
1476, by William Caxton, who had learned the art of 
printing in Bruges. The following year appeared the 



72 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

" Dictes and Notable Wise Sayings of the Philosophers," 
which is probably the first book printed in England. Cax- 
ton contributed materially to the advancement of English 
letters. He was himself a translator and editor. He 
printed no fewer than ninety-nine works, among which 
are Chaucer's *' Canterbury Tales," Gower's " Conf essio 
Amantis," and Malory's " Morte d' Arthur," from which 
Tennyson drew the materials for his " Idyls of the King." 

Gunpowder, which had been invented the previous cen- 
tury, came into common use, and wrought a salutary 
change in the organization of society. It destroyed the 
military prestige of the knightly order, brought the lower 
classes into greater prominence, and contributed to the 
abolition of serfdom. The mariner's compass greatly fur- 
thered navigation. Instead of creeping along the shores 
of the Mediterranean or the Atlantic, seamen boldly ven- 
tured upon unknown waters. In 1492 Columbus discovered 
America; and six years later Vasco da Gama, rounding 
the Cape of Good Hope, sailed across the Indian Ocean 
to Calcutta. Voyages of discovery followed in rapid suc- 
cession, new continents were added to the map, and the 
general store of knowledge was greatly increased. 

The greatest event in history since the advent of Christ 
is the Reformation of the sixteenth century. It was essen- 
tially a religious movement, which sought to correct the 
errors in doctrine and practice that had crept into the 
church and long given rise to deep dissatisfaction. In 
connection with the cooperating influences spoken of in 
the preceding paragraphs, the Reformation began a new 
stage in human progress, marking the close of the Middle 
Ages and the dawn of the modern era. There is scarcely 



FIRST CREATIVE PERIOD. 73 

an important interest that it did not touch. It secured 
greater purity and spirituality in religion, contributed 
much to the elevation of the laity and the advancement of 
woman, confirmed the separation of the secular and the 
ecclesiastical power, established the right of liberty of 
conscience, gave an extraordinary impulse to literature 
and science, and, in a word, promoted all that distinguishes 
and ennobles our modern civilization. From the time 
of Spenser and Bacon there has been no great Enghsh 
writer who has not shown, directly or indirectly, the 
influence of the Protestant Reformation. 

When the reformatory movement, which began with 
Martin Luther in Germany in 15 17, extended to England, 
it found a receptive soil. Traditions of Wycliffe still sur- 
vived ; the new learning was friendly to reform ; and men 
of high civil and ecclesiastical rank had inveighed against 
existing abuses. Though Henry VIII. at first remained 
faithful to the Roman Catholic church, and even wrote 
a book against the German reformer, he afterward, for 
personal and selfish reasons, withdrew his support, and 
encouraged the reformatory work of his ministers and of 
Parliament. In 1534 the Act of Supremacy was passed, 
by which the king was made the supreme head of the 
Church of England, and empowered to *' repress and 
amend all such errors and heresies as, by any manner 
of spiritual jurisdiction, might and ought to be lawfully 
reformed." 

Without attempting to trace the general effects of the 
Reformation in England — a factor that enters with a 
moulding influence into all the subsequent history of the 
country — some of its immediate results upon English lit- 



74 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

erature are briefly indicated. In 1526 Tyndale published 
his translation of the New Testament, which was followed 
soon afterward by other portions of the Bible. Nearly 
every year, for half a century, saw a new edition issue 
from the press. Tyndale's translation was made with 
great ability, and served as the basis of subsequent ver- 
sions until, in 161 1, King James's version, embodying 
all the excellences of previous efforts, gained general 
acceptance. 

The Scriptures in English were seized upon with great 
avidity by the common people. The results were far 
reaching and salutary. The study of the Bible stimulated 
mental activity ; its precepts ennobled character and gov- 
erned conduct ; its language improved the common speech ; 
and its treasures of history and poetry added to the popu- 
lar inteUigence. It gave an impulse to general education ; 
and it became at once, what it has since remained, the 
occasion of high scholarship and of a considerable body of 
literature. Latimer, whose vigorous sermons advanced 
the cause of the Reformation in different parts of England, 
is a type of the unbroken line of able preachers whose 
influence since upon the social, moral, and intellectual life 
of the English people cannot be estimated. Religious 
services were conducted in English ; and in 1 549 the 
'' Book of Common Prayer," which has been absorbed into 
the life of succeeding generations, was published, and its 
use, to the exclusion of all other forms, prescribed by law. 

When Elizabeth ascended the throne in 1558, the for- 
tunes of England were at a low ebb. The people were ex- 
asperated by Mary's misgovernment and persecution, and 
the bitter animosity between Protestants and Catholics was 



FIRST CREATIVE PERIOD. 75 

apparently beyond reconciliation. Humiliated by defeat 
in France, the country was threatened with invasion. 
There was neither army nor navy. " If God start not 
forth to the helm," wrote the Council in an appeal to the 
country, " we be at the point of greatest misery that can 
happen to any people, which is to become thrall to a for- 
eign nation." By the marriage of Mary, Queen of Scots, 
to the dauphin of France, Scotland became a new menace. 
These were some of the difficulties Elizabeth encountered 
on assuming the sovereignty. In dealing with them she 
showed extraordinary courage and wisdom ; and in a long 
reign of forty-five years she raised England to the front 
rank among European nations, and awakened in the Eng- 
lish people an aggressive and dauntless spirit. 

As a woman, the character of Elizabeth is far from 
admirable. She was vain, coarse, haughty, vindictive, pro- 
fane, mendacious. But as a queen, she in large measure 
justified the esteem in which she has been generally held. 
She was earnest, prudent, far-seeing, wise, and, above all, 
unselfishly devoted to the interests of her realm. She sur- 
rounded herself with able counsellors ; and, as a rule, her 
administration was characterized by a spirit of moderation. 
She extinguished the fires of persecution that had been 
lighted under Mary ; and, though exacting outward con- 
formity to the established religion, she made no inquisition 
into the private opinions of her people. 

England gradually became Protestant in spirit and the 
head of the Protestant movement in Europe. The succes- 
sive dangers arising from fanatical conspiracies were hap- 
pily averted. The papal bull of excommunication, which 
absolved the English people from their allegiance to the 



j6 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

queen, came to nothing; the Jesuit emissaries failed in 
their attempt to incite a revolt ; and finally the combined 
efforts of the Papacy and of Spain to subdue England and 
reestablish Catholicism by force were frustrated by the 
destruction of the Armada. With these triumphs over 
foes at home and abroad, England acquired a new self- 
respect and confidence, and entered upon her career of 
maritime and commercial preeminence. 

In spite of the difficulties and dangers belonging to the 
earlier years of Elizabeth's reign, the interests of the peo- 
ple were wisely cared for. When coming into conflict with 
Parliament, the queen gracefully surrendered her despotic 
tendencies. She abolished monopolies that had abused 
their privileges and become oppressive. Salutary laws 
were passed for the employment of the mendicant classes, 
which the cruel policy of preceding reigns had left as a 
residuum of discontent and menace to the country. 

The condition of the middle class was greatly improved. 
Better methods of tilling the soil gave a new impetus to 
agriculture. The growth of manufactures was rapid. In- 
stead of sending her fleeces to Holland, England developed 
every department of woollen manufacture. The mineral 
products of the country — iron, coal, tin — were increased. 
With the wars in the Netherlands, which destroyed for a 
time the trade of Antwerp and Bruges, London became the 
commercial centre of Europe. At her wharves were found 
the gold and sugar of the New World, the cotton of India, 
and the silk of the East. English vessels made their way 
everywhere — catching cod at Newfoundland, seeking new 
trade centres in the Baltic, and extending commerce in the 
Mediterranean. 



FIRST CREATIVE PERIOD. yj 

This activity in agriculture, manufacture, and commerce 
brought wealth and comfort. The dwellings were im- 
proved. Carpets took the place of rushes ; the introduc- 
tion of chimneys brought the pleasures of the fireside ; 
gloomy castles, built for mihtary strength, gave place to 
elegant palaces, surrounded by Italian gardens. Gram- 
mar schools and colleges were established ; and the print- 
ing-press, freely used for the promulgation and defence of 
facts and opinions, advanced the general intelligence. A 
learned woman herself, EHzabeth lent her influence and 
that of her court to the cause of letters. While the 
dungeon and the stake were crushing out intellectual 
freedom in Italy and Spain ; while France was distracted 
by internal religious dissension ; while foreign oppression 
was destroying the trade of the Netherlands, — England, 
under the prosperous reign of Elizabeth, was constantly 
gaining in wealth, intelligence, and power. 

These outward conditions could not fail to have an 
influence upon the thought and feeling of the English 
nation and to manifest themselves in the literary produc- 
tions of the time. The proud success achieved by Eng- 
land in the face of great odds naturally aroused a vigorous 
and dauntless spirit. The Englishman of that day be- 
came aggressive, persisted in the face of obstacles, drew 
back before no dangers, despaired of no success. With 
the growing prominence of his country, his views became 
comprehensive and penetrating. He was forced to think 
with a large horizon. Called upon to deal with large 
interests, his intellect expanded and his character became 
weighty ; engaged in conducting vast enterprises, he de- 
veloped great executive powers. 



78 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

Life became intense and rich in all its relations. No 
interest, whether social, political, commercial, or religious, 
escaped attention. The energies of the English people 
were strung to the highest pitch, and wrought, in some 
departments, the best results of which the Enghsh mind 
is capable. Bacon took the whole circle of knowledge 
as his field of inquiry. Spenser's " Faery Queene," with 
its unexampled richness of imagination, is a fountain from 
which the poets of succeeding generations have drawn 
inspiration. And Shakespeare, with his many-sided and 
inexhaustible intellect, stands easily at the head of the 
world's great dramatists. With its great achievements, we 
may well call this t\\Q first creative period in our literature. 

There are a few productions and a few writers prior to 
the accession of Elizabeth that well deserve mention. It 
was during the period between Chaucer and the " Virgin 
Queen " that the most famous of the old English ballads 
were written. In their simplicity, directness, and often 
crudeness of style, they possess a charm that a more cul- 
tivated age cannot successfully imitate. Not a few of 
them celebrate the fearless conflicts of the Scottish border 
and the lawless deeds of bold freebooters. Unwritten 
songs of the people — of the "good yeomanry" they 
invoke blessings upon — they were recited by wandering 
minstrels, and handed down by tradition from generation 
to generation. In most cases their authors are unknown ; 
and constantly undergoing changes and receiving addi- 
tions, they may be said, not to have been composed, but to 
have grown. In them the rude life of the times — the law- 
lessness, daring, fortitude, passion — is graphically depicted. 

Among the best known of these ballads is " Chevy 



FIRST CREATIVE PERIOD. 79 

Chase," which describes with great simplicity and force 
a battle between Lord Percy of England and Earl Douglas 
of Scotland. " I never heard the old song of Percy and 
Douglas," wrote Sir Philip Sidney in his "■ Defense of 
Poesie," "that I found not my heart moved more than 
with a trumpet." Of a later version Addison wrote an 
interesting critique in the Spectator. In its oldest form 
the ballad begins as follows : — 

" The Perse owt off Northombarlande, 

And a vowe to God mayd he, 
That he wold hunte in the mountayns 

Off Chyviat within dayes thre, 
In the mauger of doughte Dogles, 

And all that ever with him be." 

Robin Hood, the bold outlaw of Sherwood forest, is 
the centre of an interesting group of ballads. For a long 
time he was the people's ideal hero. Sir Walter Scott 
called him "the gentlest thief that ever was." But his 
popularity, surpassing that of any EngUsh king of the 
time, was due, not to his deeds of violence, but to his 
courage, love of fair play, and open-handed generosity. 
His sympathies were with the yeomanry ; he took the 
part of the oppressed; he robbed the rich to give to the 
poor ; and though a good Catholic, who would hear three 
masses every day, he hated the extortions of bishops 
and monks. There is no rancor in Robin Hood's fighting. 
He looks upon it as a manly test of strength, and with 
Saxon honesty disdains to take any unfair advantage. 
He jokes with his antagonist, and after the fight is over 
takes him by the hand and receives him into the friend- 
ship of frank and fearless men. 



80 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

" Then Robin took them both by the hands, 
And danced round about the oke tree : 
^ For three merry men, and three merry men, 
And three merry men we be.' " 

There is a writer of prose in the pre-EHzabethan period 
who produced works still possessing considerable interest. 
Sir Thomas More, who was called in his day the greatest 
wit in England, was born in 1478. He studied Greek at 
Oxford under Linacre and Grocyn, enthusiastic devotees 
of the new learning. For a time he stood in high favor 
with Henry VHI., served on foreign embassies, became 
treasurer of the Exchequer, and finally rose to be Lord 
High Chancellor in place of Wolsey. During the re- 
formatory movement he remained a zealous adherent of 
the Papacy ; and when he refused to recognize the validity 
of Henry's marriage with Anne Boleyn, and the king's 
supremacy over the English church, he was cast into the 
Tower and beheaded in 1535. 

More took part in the religious agitation of the time, 
and wrote several theological treatises, which are not free 
from coarseness and rancor. His " Life of Edward the 
Fifth" surpassed in clearness and purity of style any Eng- 
Hsh prose that had preceded it. But the work on which 
his fame as an author chiefly rests is his " Utopia " — the 
land of Nowhere — which contributed a new word to our 
language. What is chimerical or fanciful we now charac- 
terize as Utopian. The "Utopia," like Plato's " Republic," 
which probably furnished the idea, is a description of an 
ideal commonwealth. It is a satire on the existing state of 
society, its leading political and social regulations being the 
reverse of what was then found in Europe. Not a few of 



FIRST CREATIVE PERIOD. 8 1 

the salutary changes of recent times were anticipated by 
the genius of More. In an age of religious persecution, 
which as Lord High Chancellor he had sanctioned, he 
made it *' lawful for every man to favor and follow what 
religion he would, and that he might do the best he could 
to bring others to his opinion, so that he did it peaceably, 
gently, quietly, and soberly, without hasty and contentious 
rebuking and inveighing against each other." 

Among the pre-Elizabethan poets there are two that 
deserve particular mention. The first of these is Henry 
Howard, Earl of Surrey, whose writings introduced new 
elements into English poetry. Born of a noble family in 
15 17, spending his boyhood at Windsor Castle, educated 
at Oxford, he received the best culture that England could 
give. He afterward travelled in France and Italy, and 
in the latter country he familiarized himself with the 
writings of Dante, Petrarch, and Boccaccio. To his other 
attainments he added military prowess, and in 1 542 he dis- 
tinguished himself by his bravery in the memorable battle 
of Flodden Field. Two years later he commanded the 
English army in an expedition against Boulogne, which he 
captured. 

After his return from Scotland, an escapade, which in 
no way does him credit, resulted in a short imprisonment, 
which he has rendered noteworthy by a whimsical poem. 
With two companions he had gone about the streets of Lon- 
don at midnight, indiscriminately breaking windows by 
means of stone bows. Summoned before the Privy Coun- 
cil, he pleaded guilty, and was sent for a season to Fleet 
Prison. There he wrote a little " Satire against the Citi- 
zens of London," in which he explained that his object 



82 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

was to warn them of their sins ; and since preaching had 

failed, — 

" By unknown means it liked me 

My hidden burthen to express, 

Whereby it might appear to thee 

That secret sin hath secret spite ; 

From justice' rod no fault is free, 

But that all such as work unright 

In most quiet are next ill rest ; 

In secret silence of the night 

This made me with a reckless breast 

To wake thy sluggards with my bow." 

To Surrey belongs the merit of being the first to 
introduce blank verse and the sonnet into English poe- 
try, both of which he borrowed from Italy. Nearly all 
his poems are erotic ; and his sonnets have as their 
general subject the " fair Geraldine," whom he wor- 
shipped, it seems, with an unrequited love. The following 
little poem, on the " Means to Attain Happy Life," shows 
his style at its best : — 

" Martial, the things that do attain 
The happy life be these, I find : 
The riches left, not got with pain ; 
The fruitful ground, the quiet mind, 

" The equal friend ; no grudge, no strife ; 
No charge of rule, nor governance ; 
Without disease the healthful life ; 
The household of continuance ; 

" The mean diet, no delicate fare ; 

True wisdom joined with simpleness. 
The night discharged of all care, 

Where wine the wit may not oppress. 



FIRST CREATIVE PERIOD. 83 

" The faithful wife, without debate ; 

Such sleeps as may beguile the night ; 
Contented with thine own estate, 

Ne wish for death, ne fear his might.'" 

"An English Petrarch: no juster title," says Taine, 
"could be given to Surrey, for it expresses his talent as 
well as his disposition." 

Sir Thomas Wyat, an intimate friend of Surrey's, and 
likewise an ornament of the court of- Henry VIII., was 
born in Kent in 1503. He studied at Cambridge and 
Oxford, where he took his degree at the early age of 
fifteen, and afterward travelled extensively on the Con- 
tinent. He spoke French, Italian, and Spanish ; and 
in addition to his literary attainments he was skilled in 
all knightly accomplishments. In 1539 he was sent as 
an ambassador to the court of Charles V. in Spain. 
Upon his death, in 1 542, Surrey wrote an elegy, in which 
he traced the character of the deceased courtier and 
poet with a sympathetic hand : — 

" A visage stern and mild ; where both did grow 
Vice to contemn, in virtue to rejoice ; 
Amid great storms, whom grace assured so, 
To live upright, and smile at Fortune's choice." 

While sharing with Surrey the honor of introducing the 
ItaUan sonnet into English verse, Wyat has the distinction 
of conforming strictly with his models. All his sonnets, 
unHke those of his friend, are constructed according to the 
rules now governing that difficult species of verse. The 
following extract from a poem, " How to Use the Court," 
will illustrate the keenness of his satire : — 



84 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

" Flee therefore truth, it is both wealth and ease ; 

For though that truth of every man hath praise, 
Full near that wind goeth truth in great misease. 

Use virtue, as it goeth now-a-days, 
In word alone to make thy language sweet, 

And of thy deed yet do not as thou says ; 
Else, be thou sure, thou shalt be far unmeet 

To get thy bread, each thing is now so scant." 

" In the latter end of the same king (Henry the eight) 
reigne," says an old writer, *'sprong up a new company 
of courtly makers of whom Sir Thomas Wyat the elder 
and Henry Earle of Surrey were the two chieftains, who 
having travailed into Italy, and there tasted the sweete 
and stately measures and stile of the Italian Poesie, as 
novices newly crept out of the schools of Dante, Ariosto, 
and Petrarch, they greatly pollished our rude and homely 
manner of vulgar Poesie, from that it had bene before, 
and for that cause may justly be sayd the first reformers 
of our English meetre and stile." 

Coming now to the age of Elizabeth, to which has been 
given the designation of the First Creative Period, we find 
that literature suddenly rises in amount and excellence. 
The forces slowly accumulating for a century quickly 
burst into blossom. The number of writers, embracing 
every department of literature, is almost beyond estimate. 
Translations from the Latin, Greek, and Italian are nu- 
merous. It was at this time that Chapman's celebrated 
version of Homer — "romantic, laborious, Elizabethan" — - 
appeared. Poetry, in almost all its forms, is cultivated 
with monumental assiduity and success. Theology, as in 
Foxe's " Book of Martyrs " and Hooker's *' Ecclesiastical 
Polity," naturally claimed, in this age of religious agitation, 



FIRST CREATIVE PERIOD. 85 

no small share of attention. Education, history, and phi- 
losophy, as we shall see, were all treated in noteworthy 
productions. Stories of travel and adventure, tales of 
romance, and dramas of every description were all very 
popular. The writings in these various departments are, 
for the most part, in a style that far surpasses anything 
that had preceded them, reflecting a higher order of cul- 
ture than England had previously enjoyed. It was an age 
as extraordinary in its literary as in its political activity. 
Apart from the three great writers — Spenser, Bacon, and 
Shakespeare — reserved for special study, there are a few 
others who, on account of writings of permanent interest, 
deserve at least brief consideration. 

Roger Ascham was educated at Cambridge, where he 
devoted himself assiduously to the ancient languages. He 
chose as a motto ^^Qui docet discit, — who teaches learns," 
— and began to give instruction in Greek as soon as he 
had learned the elements of that language. In 1537 he 
was appointed lecturer in Greek and attracted many stu- 
dents, some of whom afterward became distinguished, by 
his skill and reputation as a teacher. He was fond of 
archery, and in 1544 wrote a book entitled " Toxophilus," 
in which he commended the use of the bow as a worthy 
recreation. In the preface, while apologizing for the use 
of English, he took occasion to say that the mother- 
tongue, no less than Latin, might be written with scholarly 
care. " He that will write well in any tongue," he says, 
" must follow the counsel of Aristotle, to speak as the 
common people do ; and so should every man understand 
him, and the judgment of wise men allow him. Many 
English writers have not done so, but using strange words, 



S6 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

as Latin, French, and Italian, do make all things dark 
and hard." 

In 1548 Ascham was appointed to direct the studies of 
Lady Elizabeth — a charge he fulfilled for two years. Not- 
withstanding his Protestant proclivities, he received the ap- 
pointment of Latin Secretary to Queen Mary, and discharged 
his duties with so much prudence that he escaped persecu- 
tion and retained his position after the accession of Eliza- 
beth. He was held in high esteem by the "Virgin Queen," 
with whom he renewed the classic studies of former days. 
He disapproved of the harsh discipline then in vogue in 
education. He set forth his educational views in his 
" Scholemaster," which is the first noteworthy book in 
English on the subject of education. It is still worth read- 
ing. He laid special stress on gentleness in teaching ; and 
in illustration of its value, he introduced an interesting ac- 
count of a visit he once paid to Lady Jane Grey. " Before 
I went into Germany," he says, *' I came to Broadgate in 
Leicestershire, to take my leave of that noble Lady Jane 
Grey, to whom I was exceeding much beholden. Her par- 
ents, the duke and duchess, with all the household, gentle 
men and gentlewomen, were hunting in the park. I found 
her in her chamber reading 'Phaedon Platonis' in Greek, and 
that with as much delight as some gentlemen would read a 
merry tale in Bocace. After salutation and duty done, with 
some other talk, I asked her why she would lose such pas- 
time in the park } Smiling she answered me : * I wiss, all 
their sport in the park is but a shadow to that pleasure I 
find in Plato. Alas ! good folk, they never felt what true 
pleasure meant.' " This love for literature she ascribed to 
the gentle skill of her teacher, who led her " with such fair 



FIRST CREATIVE PERIOD. 8/ 

allurements to learning that she thought all the time noth- 
ing whiles she was with him." 

John Lyly is the author of a famous work, which intro- 
duced a new style of writing into EngUsh and added a 
new word to our language. The term EitpJmisniy denot- 
ing an affected elegance of language, points to his princi- 
pal work which, in the days of Elizabeth, enjoyed great 
popularity. The Euphuistic style became the fashion at 
court ; and ladies who were not adepts at it were little 
esteemed in society. While adopting this style himself, 
he was still able to criticise it in those about him. '' It is 
a world," he says, '*to see how Englishmen desire to hear 
finer speech than the language will allow, to eat finer bread 
than is made of wheat, to wear finer cloth than is wrought 
of wool ; but I let pass their fineness, which can no way 
excuse my folly." This overstrained style has been satir- 
ized by Sir Walter Scott in his " Monastery " ; and a more 
correct taste has happily abolished it from literature. 

Lyly began his literary career in 1579 with the publica- 
tion of " Euphues, or the Anatomy of Wit " ; and two years 
later appeared his " Euphues in England," which, like the 
preceding work, attained immediate popularity. Euphues 
is a well-bred young man of Athens, who visits Naples, " a 
place of more pleasure than profit, and of more profit than 
piety." Rejecting the wise counsels of a venerable friend, 
who admonishes him to "serve, love, and fear God," he 
learns wisdom by bitter experience. At length he returns 
to Athens, whence he writes letters of admonition to his 
former companion in ill-doing, who remained in Italy. 
" Euphues in England " is a favorable account of English 
life, where the young Athenian found all the women fair, 



88 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

and all the social arrangements wise. Lyly wrote several 
plays which were popular ; but during the last years of 
Elizabeth's reign his popularity declined before the rising 
reputation of greater writers, and in 1606 it was his sad 
lot to die poor and neglected. 

Scarcely any other writer of the Elizabethan era awakens 
greater interest than Sir Philip Sidney. Of noble birth, he 
was a distinguished scholar, a brave soldier, a promising 
statesman, a favored courtier, and a brilliant author in both 
prose and poetry. His conception of chivalry was '' high- 
erected thoughts seated in a heart of courtesy"; and no 
other man of his time came nearer embodying in his life 
and character this lofty ideal. 

He was born in Kent in 1554, the oldest child of Sir 
Henry Sidney and Lady Mary Dudley, sister of Eliza- 
beth's favorite, the Earl of Leicester. After an Oxford 
training, in which his remarkable ability became manifest, 
he travelled on the Continent, visiting the leading cities of 
Germany and Italy, and making the acquaintance of great 
scholars and statesmen. Returning to England after three 
years, he was introduced at court, and won the favor of 
Elizabeth, who regarded him, as she said, ''one of the 
jewels of her crown." At the great reception given the 
queen at Kenilworth he distinguished himself in the tour- 
nament. 

During a period of retirement from court life he wrote 
his '* Arcadia," a heroic romance in prose interspersed 
with verse in the ItaHan fashion. It did not appear till 
after his death. It is a lengthy production, and though it 
excited enthusiasm in its day, it is now, in spite of frequent 
beauties, generally regarded tedious. It contains a profu- 



FIRST CREATIVE PERIOD. 89 

sion of Startling events, — shipwrecks, abductions, pirates, 
wicked fairies, and disguised princes, — all described in 
language that often exhibits great elegance and beauty. 

In 1581 Sidney composed his ''Defense of Poesie," in 
reply to the attacks»of Puritans, who had stigmatized poets 
as "caterpillars of the commonwealth." This work, which 
is still read with interest, shows a clear appreciation of the 
function of poetry, and presents its arguments with manly 
clearness and force. There is an absence of affected con- 
ceits, and the Euphuists are explicitly condemned. '' For 
now," he says, "they cast sugar and spice upon every dish 
that is served to the table ; like those Indians, not content 
to wear earrings at the fit and natural place of the ears, 
but they will thrust jewels through their nose and lips, 
because they will be sure to be fine." He pronounces 
the poet "monarch of all sciences. For he doth not only 
show the way, but giveth so sweet a prospect into the 
way as will entice any man to enter into it." 

Sidney's poetical gifts found expression in a series of 
one hundred and eight sonnets addressed to Penelope 
Devereux, upon whom he bestowed the poetic name of 
Stella. The ardent attachment they breathe seems to 
have been merely Platonic ; for at the time the poet was 
composing them he was engaged to Fanny Walsingham, 
whom he shortly afterward married. They vary in excel- 
lence, striking all the tones from a forced artificiality to a 
natural simphcity and sweetness. 

Strongly Protestant in his feelings, he desired the queen 
to become the " defendress of the faith," and to place 
herself at the head of a Protestant league. In 1585, when 
aid was sent to the Protestants in the Netherlands, who 



go ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

were struggling against Spanish oppression, Sidney was 
made governor of Flushing, one of the towns ceded to 
England. He took part in the investment of Zutphen the 
following year, and in a gallant attack upon a det3.chment 
of Spaniards his thigh was shattered by a musket ball. 
Carried from the field, mortally wounded, he asked for a 
cup of water ; but as he was raising it to his lips, a dying 
soldier near him cast upon it a look of intense longing. 
"Give it to that man," said the magnanimous Sidney; 
'*■ his necessity is greater than mine." 

It is not frequent that religious controversy makes a 
permanent contribution to literature. In subserving some 
immediate end, controversial writings are apt to be tem- 
porary in their character ; and produced under the stress 
of party spirit, they are often disfigured by partisan feel- 
ing. But the great work of Richard Hooker, the ** Laws 
of Ecclesiastical Polity," which is a defence of the Estab- 
lished Church, is an exception ; for the first book at least 
has won a permanent place in our literature. Avoiding 
the bitter spirit and scurrilous style common in the reli- 
gious controversies of the time, he endeavored, with great 
integrity of purpose, to base his defence on fundamental 
and changeless principles. In spite of certain faults of 
style and defects of reasoning, his work has remained ever 
since an authority. 

When Pope Clement said that he had never met with 
an English writer that deserved the name of author, he 
was referred to the "Ecclesiastical Polity"; and after 
reading the first book, he felt constrained to say, " There 
is no learning this man hath not searched into — nothing 
too hard for his understanding ; this man, indeed, deserves 



FIRST CREATIVE PERIOD. 9 1 

the name of an author ; his books will get reverence by 
age, for there is in them such seeds of eternity that, if the 
rest be like this, they shall last till the last fire shall con- 
sume all learning." 

Richard Hooker was born in or near the city of Exeter 
in 1553, of parents who were noted for virtue and industry. 
It was said of him in his early school days that he seemed 
"to be blessed with inward light." He was bred at Ox- 
ford, and at the age of twenty-eight took orders in the 
Established Church, for which he was eminently fitted by 
his piety and scholarship. He married " a silly clownish 
woman," who turned out to be a vixen ; but he bore his 
domestic discomfort with admirable resignation. *' If saints 
have usually a double share in the miseries of this life," he 
said, '' I that am none ought not to repine at what my wise 
Creator has appointed for me, but labor (as indeed I do 
daily), to submit mine to his will, and possess my soul in 
patience and peace." 

He was drawn unwillingly into the controversies of the 
time ; for, as he said, '* God and nature did not intend him 
for contention, but for study and quietness." The Puri- 
tans maintained that the Church of England needed a 
further reformation ; that many of its usages savored too 
much of Romanism ; that the traditions of men imposed 
no binding obligation in ecclesiastical matters ; that the 
Episcopal form of government should be abolished ; and 
that the Word of God should be the only source, not only 
of doctrine, but also of church usages and discipline. 

In opposition to these declarations, Hooker maintained : 
(i) that while the Scriptures are a perfect standard of 
doctrine, they are not a rule of discipline or government. 



92 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

(2) That the practice of the apostles is not an invariable 
rule or law to the church in succeeding ages, because they 
acted according to circumstances in its infantile state. 

(3) That the Scriptures leave many things indifferent. 

(4) That the church is a society like others, invested with 
powers to make what laws it regards necessary or reason- 
able for its well-being and government, provided they do 
not interfere with or contradict the laws and command- 
ments of Holy Scripture. And (5) that where the Scrip- 
ture is silent, human authority may interpose, having 
recourse to the reason of things and the rights of society. 

With these principles established, it was of course easy 
to defend the particular rites and ceremonies of the 
Church of England. The following passage, with which 
the first book of the " Ecclesiastical Polity " closes, has 
often been quoted, and is indeed a bit of magnificent 
prose : " Wherefore, that here we may briefly end ; of law 
there can be no less acknowledged, than that her seat is 
the bosom of God, her voice the harmony of the world : 
all things in heaven and earth do her homage, the very 
least as feeling her care, and the greatest as not exempted 
from her power ; both angels and men and creatures of 
what condition soever, though each in different sort and 
manner, yet all with uniform consent, admiring her as the 
mother of their peace and their joy." 

Soldier, sailor, courtier, statesman, historian, poet — 
these are the different characters in which Sir Walter 
Raleigh appears. In that age of great men — ■ when 
Spenser, Shakespeare, and Bacon were rendering England 
famous in literature, and Hawkins, Frobisher, and Drake 
were making her powerful on the sea — the figure of 



FIRST CREATIVE PERIOD. 93 

Raleigh is not dwarfed. In the momentous events of the 
time, which involved all subsequent history ; in the con- 
flicts between Roman supremacy and Protestant indepen- 
dence ; in the contest with Spain which was to decide the 
sovereignty of the seas, and the peopling of the new 
world, he had, as counsellor of the queen and admiral of 
the fleet, no insignificant share. His versatility of genius 
was almost unexampled ; and to whatever form of ac- 
tivity he turned his attention, he exhibited efficiency and 
achieved distinction. His capacious mind was equally 
at home in devising a comprehensive state policy, in 
managing practical details, and in cultivating the graces 
of literature. 

Born in 1552, near the city of Exeter in Devonshire, — a 
county that during the sixteenth century gave England 
Bishop Jewell, Sir Francis Drake, and Richard Hooker, — 
he entered Oxford at the age of fourteen and distinguished 
himself as a rhetorician and philosopher. With strong 
Protestant feeling, he went to France and fought as a 
volunteer in the Huguenot armies. In 1578 he joined an 
expedition sent to the Netherlands to oppose Don John of 
Austria ; and a little later he accompanied his half-brother, 
Sir Humphrey Gilbert, on a voyage to America, the pur- 
pose of which was to antagonize Spanish interests. In 
1580 he went with Lord Grey (whose secretary was 
Edmund Spenser) to Ireland, which was then in a state 
of insurrection, and distinguished himself by his energy 
and courage. At the court in London he won the special 
favor of Queen Elizabeth, and became one of her principal 
counsellors. His tact was admirable. He was once attend- 
ing the queen on a walk ; and when, on coming to a muddy 



94 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

place, she hesitated for a moment, Raleigh instantly spread 
his rich plush cloak in the way for her feet. He was made 
in succession Captain of the Guard, Gentleman of the 
Privy Chamber, Lord Warden of the Stannaries, and Lord 
Lieutenant of Cornwall. 

In the conflict with Spain, Raleigh was of eminent ser- 
vice. When the news reached London that the Armada 
was advancing, he posted himself, eager for the fray, off 
the southern coast of England, in order to fly at the flanks 
of the invading fleet. In council he advocated the tactics 
by which the Armada was defeated and England saved. 
In 1589 he made a visit to Ireland and renewed his friend- 
ship with Spenser. He brought the author of the " Faery 
Queene " to London and introduced him at court — a ser- 
vice acknowledged in a poem entitled *' Colin Clout's Come 
Home Again," in which Raleigh figures as the " Shepherd 
of the Ocean." 

Of Raleigh's varied other services as naval commander 
and explorer, there is not space to speak. With the death 
of Elizabeth in 1603 his fortunes began to decline. He 
incurred the displeasure of James I. First deprived of 
his oflices, he was finally imprisoned on a charge of con- 
spiracy. In spite of his innocence, eloquent defence, and 
admirable bearing, he was adjudged guilty and sentenced 
to death. The king did not venture to execute the sen- 
tence ; and after being brought on the scaffold, Raleigh 
was reprieved and led back to the Tower. He employed 
the thirteen tedious years of his imprisonment in study, 
and in 1614 he published his "History of the World." It 
is an unfinished work, coming down only to the year 170 
B.C. As a record of facts, it has long since been super- 



FIRST CREATIVE PERIOD. 95 

seded ; but it still possesses interest as the best specimen 
of historical prose that had yet appeared in England. 
Raleigh's large experience and practical sense preserved 
him from pedantry, while his reflections are often striking 
and sometimes eloquent. '' O eloquent, just, and mighty 
death ! " he exclaims, '' whom none could advise, thou 
hast persuaded ; what none hath dared, thou hast done ; 
and whom all the world hath flattered, thou only hast cast 
out of the world and despised ; thou hast drawn together 
all the far-fetched greatness, all the pride, cruelty, and 
ambition of man, and covered it all over with these two 
narrow words, hicjacet!'' 

Apart from numerous prose writings — epistolary, mari- 
time, geographical, political, and historical — Raleigh felt 
the impulse of poetry. He contemplated an English epic ; 
but his busy life left him leisure for only a few miscellane- 
ous pieces, in which depth of sentiment is associated with 
felicitous expression. His reply to Marlowe's ''Passionate 
Shepherd " is well known : — 

" If all the world and love were young, 
And truth in every shepherd's tongue, 
These pretty pleasures might me move 
To live with thee and be thy love." 

The man of deeds rather than of words is portrayed in 
the following lines : — 

" Passions are likened best to floods and streams ; 
The shallow murmur, but the deep are dumb ; 
So, when affections yield discourse, it seems 
The bottom is but shallow whence they come. 
They that are rich in words, in words discover 
That they are poor in that which makes a lover." 



96 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

The lines he wrote the night before his execution pos- 
sess a melancholy interest : — 

" Even such is timcj that takes in trust 
Our youth, our joys, our all we have, 
And pays us but with earth and dust ; 
Who, in the dark and silent grave. 
When we have wandered all our ways, 
Shuts up the story of our days ; 
But from this earth, this grave, this dust. 
My God shall raise me up, I trust." 

The poetic activity of the First Creative Period is 
astonishing. The list of poets contains no fewer than two 
hundred names, and many of them were prolific writers. 
The poetry of this time exhibits all the exuberant vigor of 
youth, and often also, as might be expected, a youth- 
ful immaturity. The choice of subjects is frequently 
unhappy, and naturalness of style is often supplanted 
by pedantic affectations. Except in the case of a few 
master-spirits, the wine of poetry had not yet had time to 
run clear. 

Apart from the drama, the lyrical productions are by 
far the most successful, and some of them are admirable 
in form and spirit, comparing favorably with the efforts of 
a later day. The Elizabethan lyric originated, not among 
the people, but largely among the cultured circles of the 
court. The poets of this period were not inaptly styled 
"courtly makers." The subjects are generally erotic, and 
the treatment prevailingly objective. What appeals to the 
senses, rather than to the reflective powers, is made promi- 
nent. The lyrical measures are exceedingly varied, though 
the basis is almost always iambic. The influences pro- 



FIRST CREATIVE PERIOD. 97 

ducing this rich variety were threefold: (i) the old 
national metre with its assonance and alliteration; (2) the 
metrical forms of France and Italy, which were extensively 
imitated; and (3) the classical metres, which were studied 
with enthusiasm. 

There are several lengthy poems — Sackville's ''Mirror 
for Magistrates," Warner's ''Albion's England," Daniel's 
"Civil Wars," and Drayton's " Polyolbion " — which can 
not be spoken of so favorably. They are indeed models of 
patient authorship, and exhibit great skill in mechanical 
verse-making ; but they have, as a rule, the serious defect 
of being unreadable. Nothing but the most ardent patriot- 
ism can find them interesting. Most persons, after look- 
ing into these poems, will discover some basis for the 
humorous criticism of Lowell, who speaks of this age as 
"the period of the saurians in Enghsh poetry, interminable 
poems, book after book and canto after canto, like far 
reaching vertebm that at first sight would seem to have 
rendered earth unfit for the habitation of man. They most 
of them sleep well now, as once they made their readers 
sleep, and their huge remains lie embedded in the deep 
morasses of Chambers and Anderson. We wonder at the 
length of face and general atrabiHous look that mark the 
portraits of the men of that generation, but it is no marvel 
when even their relaxations were such downright hard 
work. Fathers, when their day on earth was up, must 
have folded down the leaf and left the task to be finished 
by their sons — a dreary inheritance." 

When the Christian church gained the ascendency in 
ancient Rome, it set itself in opposition to dramatic repre- 
sentations, which- at that time were characterized by lewd- 

H 



98 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

ness and brutality. Tertullian said that ''stage plays are 
the pomp of the devil; " and Clement of Rome and Augus- 
tine denounced the theatre in terms equally sweeping and 
strong. Under this opposition of the church, the dramas 
of Greece and Rome fell into oblivion, except where out- 
cast and wandering actors preserved some faint tradition 
of them. 

The modern drama has an ecclesiastical origin. Itis be- 
ginnings are found in the Miracle plays, which, during the 
latter part of the Middle Ages, were common not only in 
England, but throughout all Europe. These plays, some- 
times called Mysteries, represented scenes in sacred his- 
tory and in the lives of saints. They were written by 
ecclesiastics, and performed under the auspices of the 
church, in abbeys and cathedrals. At a time when preach- 
ing was unusual, they were employed to instruct the people 
in the historical portions of the Scripture. Subsequently, 
they were performed by trading companies in the towns, 
who used movable platforms called pageants. In spite of 
their religious origin and aim, these plays often degen- 
erated into gross irreverence and buffoonery; and at their 
best, judged by present standards, they were crude inform 
and style. 

The Miracle plays were succeeded by the Moralities, 
which introduced as drmnatis pevsoncB the leading virtues 
and vices. They satisfied a popular love of allegory, and 
retained a hold on the public mind till the time of Eliza- 
beth. One of the last dramatic representations attended 
by the queen was a Morality, entitled the '* Contention be- 
tween Liberality and Prodigality," and performed in the 
year 1600. Sometimes, along with the virtues and vices, 



FIRST CREATIVE PERIOD. 99 

characters from real life were introduced ; and by thus 
touching upon current events and existing manners, the 
Morality gained an additional element of popularity. A 
further approach to the modern drama was made by 
the Interludes, a sort of farcical representation invented 
by John Hey wood early in the sixteenth century, and 
designed to relieve the tediousness of the Miracle play or 
Morality. 

The first English comedy was "Ralph Royster Doyster," 
written by Nicholas Udall, headmaster of Eton and trans- 
lator of Terence. The exact date of its composition is not 
known, but it appeared prior to 1551. Unlike the Miracle 
and Moral plays, it is divided into acts and scenes — an 
advance in dramatic form suggested by classical models. 
The first regular tragedy, entitled *' Gorboduc," followed a 
few years later. It was written by Thomas Sackville, and 
performed before the queen in 1562. It exhibits the first 
application of blank verse to dramatic composition in 
England. Like the comedy just spoken of, its form was 
affected by Greek and Roman models, with which Sack- 
ville had become acquainted at Oxford and Cambridge. 
It is chiefly notable as introducing the splendid theatrical 
outburst of the Elizabethan era. Before the close of the 
sixteenth century there appeared a large number of drama- 
tists, whose works possess not simply historical interest, 
but also intrinsic excellence. Among the predecessors of 
Shakespeare were Kyd, Lyly, Peele, Greene, and Marlowe. 

Special buildings for dramatic entertainments were not 
erected till late in the sixteenth century. Before that time 
the plays were acted in tents, wooden sheds, courtyards of 
inns, and cock-pits — the name pit, applied to the lowest 



100 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

place in theatres, still suggesting this association. The 
first building in London for dramatic purposes was erected 
in 1576. It was speedily followed by others ; and before 
the close of the century eleven theatres were built, chiefly 
on the southern or Surrey bank of the Thames, in order to 
be beyond the jurisdiction of the Puritan city government. 
The most famous of these theatres, because of its associa- 
tion with Shakespeare, was The Globe, so called from its 
sign, which represented Atlas supporting the world, with 
the striking motto, ''Tottts niundus agit histrionem'' 

These early theatres were all built after the same model, 
suggested, no doubt, by the enclosed courts of inns. A 
central platform served for the stage, which was surrounded 
by seats except on one side reserved for a dressing room. 
The upper galleries, which extended around the entire 
building, were occupied by boxes. This arrangement gen- 
erally led to the adoption of octagonal-shaped buildings. 
Most of the theatres were uncovered, except immediately 
over the stage. There was no movable scenery, and the 
female parts were acted by men and boys. A placard, 
bearing the name of Rome, Paris, or London, as the case 
might be, indicated the scene of the action. The plays 
began in the forenoon, and were attended by people of 
every social condition. In spite of the opposition of the 
Puritan corporation of London, the drama made rapid 
progress ; and in one generation it passed from infancy to 
full maturity, exhibiting a compass, strength, and majesty 
unparalleled in the literary history of any other country. 

Twenty-five years after the construction of the first 
theatre, the "Merchant of Venice," "Romeo and Juliet," 
and "Hamlet" were presented on the stage. A large 



FIRST CREATIVE PERIOD. lOI 

number of dramatic poets in London — Greene, Marlowe, 
Shakespeare, Jonson, Beaumont, Fletcher, Massinger, and 
others — were engaged in supplying the popular demand 
for plays ; and such was the genius of several of these 
writers that they would stand out with prominence but 
for the overshadowing figure of one consummate master. 
In the main, they were men of liberal culture; but fre- 
quently their strength was wasted in licentious and in- 
temperate living. Many of them were actors, and began 
their literary careers by retouching the plays of others. 
As the price of a drama was only from seven to twenty 
pounds, they were often in want of bread; and it is a 
curious fact that many of the details we have of their lives 
are taken from the journal of a pawn-broker and money- 
lender. 

Among the minor dramatists there is one that seems to 
deserve more particular mention. In the Poets' Corner of 
Westminster Abbey a slab bears the simple inscription, 
" O Rare Ben Jonson." Though two and a half centuries 
have ^passed since it was carved there, the literary world, 
with remarkable unanimity, has approved it as just. He 
was a strong, learned, large-minded, and big-hearted 
piece of manhood — John Bull personified, as Whipple 

suggests. 

Ben Jonson was born in London in 1573. After a brief 
course at Cambridge, he became a soldier in the Nether- 
lands, where he distinguished himself by his bravery. But 
military life had little charm for him, and after a single 
campaign he returned to London and connected himself 
with a theatre. As an actor he failed completely. But as 
a dramatic author he was more fortunate, and in 1 596 his 



102 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

comedy, "Every Man in his Humor," in which Shakespeare 
acted a part, established his reputation. It was about this 
time that the acquaintance between the two dramatists be- 
gan. We have a pleasing contemporary picture of them 
as they met, along with Beaumont, Fletcher, and other 
poets, at the Falcon Tavern, the home of the Mermaid 
Club founded by Raleigh. '' Many were the wit combats," 
says Fuller, '' betwixt Shakespeare and Ben Jonson, which 
two I behold like a Spanish great galleon and an English 
man-of-war ; Master Jonson, like the former, was built far 
higher in learning ; solid, but slow in his performances. 
Shakespeare, with the English man-of-war, lesser in bulk, 
but lighter in sailing, could turn with all tides, tack about 
and take advantage of all winds, by the quickness of his 
wit and invention." 

After the success of ** Every Man in his Humor," Jon- 
son wrote, at pretty regular intervals, a series of dramas, 
several of which — '' Volpone," "The Silent Woman," and 
" The Alchemist " — occupy a high rank in dramatic litera- 
ture. But he was a lyrical as well as dramatic poet. It 
has even been contended that lyrical poetry was his special 
sphere. However that may be, he undoubtedly possessed 
lyrical gifts of a high order, as may be seen in the follow- 
ing well-known song : — 

"Drink to me only with thine eyes, 

And I will pledge with mine ; 
Or leave a kiss but in the cup, 

And ril not look for wine. 
The thirst that from the soul doth rise 

Doth ask a drink divine ; 
But might I of Jove's nectar sup, 

I would not change for thine. 



FIRST CREATIVE PERIOD. 103 

" I sent thee late a rosy wreath, 

Not so much honoring thee 
As giving it a hope that there 

It could not withered be ; 
But thou thereon didst only breathe 

And sent'st it back to me ; 
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, 

Not of itself, but thee." 



104 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



EDMUND SPENSER. 

For more than one hundred and fifty years no poet 
worthy to bear the mantle of Chaucer had appeared in 
England. But, as we have seen, mighty movements had 
been going on in Europe, — the revival of letters, great 
inventions and discoveries, and the widespread religious 
movement known as the Reformation. It was an age of 
great thoughts and aspirations and of marvellous achieve- 
ment. The time had at length come, under the prosper- 
ous and illustrious reign of Elizabeth, for English greatness 
to mirror itself in literature. A group of great writers 
arose. To Edmund Spenser belongs the honor of having 
been the first genius to reflect the greatness of his age 
and country in an imperishable poem, and to add new 
lustre to a splendid period in English history. 

As with Chaucer, we have to lament the meagreness of 
detail connected with the life of Spenser. The year 1552, 
which is determined by an incidental and not wholly con- 
clusive reference in one of his sonnets, is commonly ac- 
cepted as the year of his birth. The place of his birth, 
not otherwise known, is likewise determined by a passage 
in his " Prothalamion," a poem written near the close of his 

life: — 

" At length they all to merry London came, 

To merry London, my most kindly nurse, 
That to me gave this life's first native source, 
Though from another place I take my name^ 
An house of ancient fame.'" 







Engraved by G. Yertue, 172: 




EDMUND SPENSER. IO5 

Nothing is known of his parents ; but, as he was a char- 
ity student, it is to be inferred that they were in humble 
circumstances. He received his preparatory training at 
the Merchant Taylor School, and at the age of seventeen 
entered Pembroke Hall, Cambridge, where he earned his 
board by acting as sizar or waiter. He took the degree 
of Bachelor of Arts in 1572, and that of Master of Arts 
four years later. The particulars of his life at Cambridge 
are, for the most part, matters of mere conjecture. We 
may safely infer from his broad scholarship that he was a 
diligent student. His writings show an intimate acquaint- 
ance, not only with classical ' antiquity, but also with the 
great writers — Chaucer, Dante, Tasso, Ariosto, Marot — 
of the dawning modern era. 

A friendship with Gabriel Harvey, a fellow of Pembroke 
Hall, and an enthusiastic writer and educator, was not 
without influence upon his poetical career. Harvey en- 
couraged Spenser in his early literary efforts ; but it is 
fortunate that his advice failed to turn the poet's genius 
to the drama. After leaving the university, Spenser spent 
a year or two in the north of England (it is impossible to 
be more definite), where he wrote his first important work, 
"The Shepherd's Calendar." It was inspired by a deep 
but unfortunate affection for a country lass, who appears 
in the poem under the anagrammatic name of Rosalinde. 
Her identity, a puzzle to critics, remained for a long time 
undetermined ; but an American writer, with great inge- 
nuity, has shown almost beyond question that the young 
lady was Rose Daniel, sister to the poet of that name.^ 

The poem consists of twelve eclogues, named after the 

1 See Atlantic Monthly, November, 1858. 



I06 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

months of the year. It contains a variety of measures, 
all of v/hich are distinguished for their harmony. Noth- 
ing so admirable in metre and phrase had appeared since 
Chaucer. Many archaic words were introduced under the 
impression, as we are told in a prefatory epistle addressed 
to Harvey, '' that they bring great grace, and, as one would 
say, authority to the verse." Though less finished than 
some subsequent poems, "The Shepherd's Calendar" 
showed a master's touch and announced the presence of 
a great poet in England. 

Upon the advice of Harvey, Spenser went to London. 
He met Sir Philip Sidney, by whom he was introduced 
at court, and put in the way of preferment. He fell in 
readily with court life, wore a pointed beard and fashion- 
able mustache, and acquired a light tone in speaking 
of women — a levity that soon gave place to a truly 
chivalrous regard. In 1580 he was appointed secretary 
to Lord Grey, deputy to Ireland, and accompanied that 
official through the bloody scenes connected with the 
suppression of Desmond's rebellion. The duties assigned 
him were ably performed ; and, in recognition of his 
services, he received in 1586, as a grant, Kilcolman Castle 
and three thousand acres of land in the county of Cork. 
Here he afterward made his home, occasionally visiting 
London to seek preferment or to publish some new work. 
Though his home was not without the attraction of beauti- 
ful surroundings, he looked upon his life there as a sort 
of banishment. In one of his poems he speaks of — 

"My luckless lot, 
That banisht had myself, like wight forlore, 
Into that waste, where I was quite forgot." 



EDMUND SPENSER. lO/ 

But however disagreeable to the feelings of Spenser, 
who continued to feel a longing for the ** sweet civilities" 
of London, it can hardly be doubted that his experience 
in Ireland was favorable to the development of his poetic 
gifts, and found a favorable reflection in his greatest poem. 
It gave a vivid realism to his descriptions that in all prob- 
ability would otherwise have been wanting. 

In 1589 he was visited by Sir Walter Raleigh, to whom 
he read the first three books of the " Faery Queene." 
Seated in the midst of an attractive landscape, the poet 
and the hero make a pleasing picture as they discuss 
the merits of a work that is to begin a new era in Eng- 
lish literature. Raleigh was so delighted with the poem 
that he urged the author to take it to London — advice 
that was eagerly followed. The poet was granted an 
audience by Elizabeth, and favored with the patronage 
of several noble ladies ; but further than a pension of 
fifty pounds, which does not appear to have been regu- 
larly paid, he received no substantial recognition. 

This result was a disappointment to Spenser, who had 
hoped that his literary fame would lead to higher political 
preferment. In "■ Colin Clout's Come Home Again," a 
poem in which the incidents of this visit are embodied, 
he speaks of the court in a tone of disappointment and 
bitterness. In a prefatory letter addressed to Raleigh, 
who figures in the poem under the title of ** Shepherd 
of the Ocean," Spenser says that the work agrees *'with 
the truth in circumstance and matter " ; and from this 
declaration it may be inferred that his portrayal of 
court life was drawn, not from imagination, but from 
experience. 



I08 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

" For, sooth to say, it is no sort of life 
For shepherd fit to lead in that same place, 
Where each one seeks with malice, and with strife, 
To thrust down other in foul disgrace. 
Himself to raise : and he doth soonest rise 
That best can handle his deceitful wit 
In subtle shifts. . . . 

To which him needs a guileful, hollow heart 
Masked with fair dissembling courtesy, 
A filed tongue furnisht with terms of art. 
No art of school, but courtiers' schoolery. 
For arts of school have there small countenance. 
Counted but toys to busy idle brains. 
And there professors find small maintenance, 
But to be instruments of others' gains. 
Nor is there place for any gentle wit 
Unless to please it can itself apply." 

In "Mother Hubbard's Tale," which exhibits Spenser's 
genius in satire, and is the most interesting of his minor 
pieces, he has spoken of the court in some vigorous lines. 
This poem was published in 1591 ; and though composed, 
as the author tells us, "in the raw conceit of youth," it 
shows the touch of his mature years. No doubt it 
expresses his own bitter experience : — 

" Full little knowest thou that hast not tried 
What hell it is in suing long to abide ; 
To lose good days that might be better spent ; 
To waste long nights in pensive discontent ; 
To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow ; 
To feed on hope, to pine with fear and sorrow ; 
To have thy prince's grace, yet want her peers' ; 
To have thy asking, yet wait many years ; 
To fret thy soul with crosses and with cares ; 
To eat thy heart through comfortless despairs ; 



EDMUND SPENSER, IO9 

To fawn, to crouch, to wait, to ride, to run. 
To spend, to give, to want, to be undone. 
Unhappy wight, born to disastrous end. 
That doth his life in so long tendance spend ! " 

The first three books of the " Faery Queene " were pub- 
lished in 1590, and were received with an outburst of 
applause. Spenser took rank as the first of living poets. 
" The admiration of this great poem," says Hallam, " was 
unanimous and enthusiastic. No academy had been 
trained to carp at his genius with minute cavilling ; no 
recent popularity, no traditional fame (for Chaucer was 
rather venerated than much in the hands of the reader) 
interfered with the immediate recognition of his suprem- 
acy. The * Faery Queene ' became at once the delight of 
every accomplished gentleman, the model of every poet, 
and the solace of every scholar." Spenser remained in 
London about a year in the enjoyment of his newly won 
reputation and in the pursuit of preferment. But in the 
latter he was disappointed, and returned to Ireland, as we 
have seen, with a feeling of resentment toward the man- 
ners and morals of the court. 

In 1594 he married a lady by the name of Elizabeth — 
her family name remaining uncertain. In his " Amoretti, 
or Sonnets," he describes the beginning and progress of 
his affection. These sonnets are interesting, not only for 
their purity and delicacy of feeling, but also for the light 
they throw on the poet's life. Whatever may have been 
the real character of the Irish maiden he celebrates, in 
the poems she is idealized into great beauty. It was only 
after a protracted suit that the poet met with encourage- 
ment and was able to say, — 



no ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

"After long storms' and tempests'" sad assay, 
Which hardly I endured heretofore, 
In dread of death, and dangerous dismay. 
With which my silly bark was tossed sore ; 
I do at length descry the happy shore, 
In which I hope ere long for to arrive : 
Fair soil it seems from far, and fraught with store 
Of all that dear and dainty is alive. 
Most happy he ! that can at last atchyve 
The joyous safety of so sweet a rest ; 
Whose least delight sufficeth to deprive 
Remembrance of all pains which him opprest. 

All pains are nothing in respect of this ; 

All sorrows short that gain eternal bliss." 

The marriage, which took place in 1 594, was celebrated 
in an *' Epithalamion," which ranks as the noblest bridal 
song ever written. 

In 1596 Spenser wrote his "View of the State of Ire- 
land," which shows, not the poet's hand, but that of a 
man of affairs. It is rigorous in policy and inexorable in 
spirit. He sees but one side of the subject. After an 
elaborate review of the history, character, and institutions 
of the Irish, which are pronounced full of *'evil usages," 
he lays down his plan of pacification. Garrison Ireland 
with an adequate force of infantry and cavalry ; give the 
Irish twenty days to submit ; and after that time, hunt 
down the rebels like wild beasts. ''If they be well fol- 
lowed one winter, ye shall have little work to do with 
them the next summer." Famine would complete the 
work of the sword ; and in less than two years, Spenser 
thought, the country would be peaceful and open to Eng- 
lish colonists. Submission or extermination — this was 



EDMUND SPENSER. Ill 

the simple solution of the Irish problem he proposed. 
"Bloody and cruel" he recognized it to be; but holding 
the utter subjugation of Ireland necessary to the preser- 
vation of English power and the Protestant religion, he 
would not draw back '* for the sight of any such rueful 
object as must thereupon follow." 

In 1598 Spenser was appointed sheriff of Cork; and 
Tyrone's rebellion breaking out soon afterward, Kilcol- 
man Castle was sacked and burned. The poet and his 
wife escaped with difficulty, and it is probable that their 
youngest child, who was left behind, perished in the 
flames. In 1599 Spenser, overcome by misfortunes, died 
in a common London inn, and was buried in Westminster 
Abbey, near the tomb of his master, Chaucer. His life 
was full of disappointment. He never obtained the pre- 
ferment to which he aspired, and he felt his failure with 
all the keenness of sensitive genius. And yet, under dif- 
ferent and happier circumstances, his great natural gifts 
would probably not have borne so rich fruitage. 

All that we know of Spenser is of good report. He 
had the esteem and friendship of the best people of his 
time; he was faithful in his attachments and irreproach- 
able in his outward life. In his comparative seclusion he 
was able to forget the hard realities of his lot and to 
dwell much of the time in an ideal world ; and the poetic 
creations, which he elaborated in the quietude of Kilcol- 
man Castle, had the good fortune to gain immediate and 
hearty recognition. He has been aptly styled " the poet's 
poet " ; and it is certain that his writings, especially the 
" Faery Queene," have been a perennial source of inspira- 
tion and power to his successors. Pope read him in his 



112 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

old age with the same zest as in his youth. • Dryden 
looked up to him as a master; and Milton called him 
** our sage and serious poet, whom I dare be known to 
think a better teacher than Scotus or Aquinas." 

As already stated, the first three books of the "Faery 
Queene " were published in 1590. Three more books 
appeared in 1596 — an interval that indicates the conscien- 
tious labor Spenser bestowed upon his productions. The 
plan of the work contemplated no fewer than twelve 
books ; but in its present incomplete state it is one of 
the longest poems in the language. There is a tradition 
that three unpubhshed books were burned in the destruc- 
tion of Kilcolman Castle, but it is probably without foun- 
dation. The " Faery Queene " is Spenser's masterpiece. 
Keenly sympathizing with all the great interests and 
movements of his time, he embodied in this work his 
noblest thoughts and feelings. Here his genius had full 
play and attained the highest results of which it was 
capable. In this poem the Elizabethan Age is reflected 
in all its splendor. 

The stanza of the poem was the poet's own invention 
and properly bears his name. It is singularly melodious 
and effective, and has since been made the medium of some 
of the finest poetry in our language, — Burns's " Cotter's 
Saturday Night," Shelley's "Revolt of Islam," Byron's 
" Childe Harold," and many other poems. Though some- 
what difficult in its structure, Spenser handled it with 
masterly ease and skill, and poured forth his treasures of 
description, narration, reflection, feeling, and fancy, without 
embarrassment. A single stanza, descriptive of morning, 
must suffice by way of illustration : — 



EDMUND SPENSER. II3 

" By this the northerne wagoner had set 
His sevenfold teme behind the stedfast starre 
That was in ocean waves yet never wet, 
But firme is fixt, and sendeth light from farre 
To al that in the wide deepe wandring arre ; 
And chearefull chaunticlere with his note shrill 
Had warned once, that Phoebus fiery carre 
In hast was climbing up the easterne hill. 
Full envious that night so long his roome did fill." 

The poem is itself an allegory, a form that the poet took 
some pains to justify. In a prefatory letter addressed to 
Raleigh, the author fully explains his plan and makes 
clear what would otherwise have remained obscure. " The 
generall end, therefore, of all the booke," he says, "is to 
fashion a gentleman or noble person in vertuous and gen- 
tle discipline. Which for that I conceived shoulde be 
most plausible and pleasing, beeing coloured with an his- 
toricall fiction, the which the most part of men delight to 
read, rather for varietie of matter than for profit of the 
ensample : I chose the historic of King Arthure, as most 
fit for the excellencie of his person, beeing made famous 
by many men's former works, and also furthest from the 
danger of envie, and suspicion of present time." Prince 
Arthur is the central figure of the poem, in whose person, 
Spenser says, " I sette forth magnificence in particular, 
which vertue, for that (according to Aristotle and the rest) 
is the perfection of all the rest and containeth in it them 
all, therefore in the whole course I mention the deeds of 
Arthure appliable to that vertue, which I write of in that 
booke." 

By magnificence Spenser meant magnanimity, which, ac- 
cording to Aristotle, contains all the moral virtues. Twelve 



114 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

other knights are made the representatives or patrons of 
so many separate virtues. The Knight of the Red Cross 
represents Jioliiiess ; Sir Guyon, temperance ; Britomartis, 
a lady knight, chastity ; and so on. But the allegory is 
double. In addition to the abstract moral virtues, the 
leading characters represent contemporary persons. The 
Faery Queene stands for the glory of God in general, and 
for Queen Elizabeth in particular ; Arthur for magna- 
nimity, and also for the Earl of Leicester ; the Red Cross 
Knight for holiness, and also for the model Englishman ; 
Una for truth, and also for the Protestant church ; Duessa 
for falsehood, and also for the Roman church, etc. But 
in this second part of the allegory a close resemblance is 
not to be expected, as flattery often guides the poet's pen 
or warps his judgment. While an acquaintance with the 
allegory is necessary for a complete understanding of the 
poem, it adds perhaps but little to the interest of perusal. 
The poem possesses an intrinsic interest as a narrative of 
adventure ; and our sympathy with the actual personages 
moving before us causes us to lose sight of their typical 
character. 

The '* Faery Queene," it must be confessed, is defective 
in construction. Spenser intended to follow the maxim of 
Horace and the example of Homer and Virgil by plunging 
into the miidst of his story ; but he failed in his purpose, 
and a prose introduction, in the shape of a letter to Raleigh, 
became necessary to understand the poem. " The methode 
of a poet historicall is not such as of an historiographer. 
For an historiographer discourseth of affaires orderly as 
they were done, accounting as well the times as the ac- 
tions ; but a poet thrusteth into the middest, even where it 



EDMUND SPENSER. II5 

most concerneth him, and there recoursing to the things 
forepast, and divining of things to come, maketh a pleas- 
ing analysis of all. The beginning, therefore, of my his- 
torie, if it were to be told by an historiographer, should be 
the twelfth booke, which is the last ; where I devise that 
the Faery Queene kept her annuall feast twelve dales ; 
upon which twelve severall dayes, the occasions of the 
twelve severall adventures hapned, which being under- 
taken by xii. severall knights, are in these twelve books 
severally handled and discoursed." 

The first book is the most interesting of all. In the 
letter already quoted, it is explained as follows : ** In the 
beginning of the feast there presented him selfe a tall, 
clownish younge man, who falling before the Queene of 
Faeries desired a boone (as the manner then was) which 
during that feast she might not refuse ; which was that 
hee might have the atchievement of any adventure, which 
during that feast should happen ; that being granted, he 
rested him selfe on the floore, unfit through his rusticitie 
for a better place. Soone after entred a faire ladie in 
mourning weedes, riding on a white asse, with a dwarfe 
behind her leading a warlike steed, that bore the armes 
of a knight, and his speare in the dwarfe's hand. She 
falling before the Queene of Faeries, complayned that 
her father and mother, an ancient king and queene, had 
bene by an huge dragon many yeers shut up in a brazen 
castle, who thence suffered them not to issew : and there- 
fore besought the Faery Queene to assigne her some one 
of her knights to take on him that exployt. Presently 
that clownish person upstarting, desired that adventure; 
whereat the Queene much wondering, and the lady much 



Il6 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

gain-saying, yet he earnestly importuned his desire. In 
the end the lady told him that unlesse that armour which 
she brought would serve him (that is the armour of a 
Christian man specified by Saint Paul, v. Ephes.) that 
he could not succeed in that enterprise, which being forth- 
with put upon him with due furnitures thereunto, he 
seemed the goodliest man in al that company, and was 
well liked of the lady. And eftesoones taking on him 
knighthood, and mounting on . that strange courser, he 
went forth with her on that adventure : where beginneth 
the first booke, viz., — 

" ^ A gentle knight was pricking on the plaine,' etc." 

The allegory of the " Faery Queene " is nowhere more 
worthy of study than in the first book. Like Bunyan's 
pilgrim, the Red Cross Knight shows the conflicts of the 
human soul in its effort to attain to holiness. This is the 
sublimest of all conflicts. The knight, clad in Christian 
armor, set forth to make war upon the dragon, the Old 
Serpent. After a time the light of heaven is shut out by 
clouds, and the warrior loses his way in the " wandering 
wood," the haunt of Error. 

" For light she hated as the deadly bale, 
Ay wont in desert darkness to remaine, 
Where plain none might her see, nor she see any plain." 

Only after a long and bitter struggle, typifying the con- 
flicts of the earnest soul in search of truth, does the Knight 
succeed in vanquishing this dangerous foe. This danger 
passed, another follows. The hero, with his fair compan- 
ion, at length encounters — 



EDMUND SPENSER. WJ 

" An aged sire, in long blacke weedes yclad, 
His feet all bare, his beard all hoarie gray, 
And by his belt his booke he hanging had ; 
Sober he seemde, and very sagely sad, 
And to the ground his eyes were Iftwly bent, 
Simple in shew, and voide of malice bad, 
And all the way he prayed, as he went, 
And often knockt his breast, as one that did repent." 

This was Archimago or Hypocrisy, who deceives the 
Knight with his magic art. Truth is made to seem false- 
hood, and falsehood truth. This deception is the cause of 
all his subsequent trouble, — his struggle with Sans Foy or 
Infidelity, his companionship with Duessa or Falsehood, 
his sojourn and trials at the palace of Pride, and his cap- 
ture and imprisonment by the giant Orgoglio or Antichrist. 
He is finally delivered by Arthur, and conducted by Una 
to the house of Holiness, where he is taught repentance. 
Spiritual discipline frees him from all his stains, and sends 
him forth once more protected with his celestial armor. 
He meets the grim Dragon, and after a prolonged conflict 
gloriously triumphs. The book naturally ends with his 
betrothal to Una or Truth, emblematic of eternal union. 
Through trials and suffering to final victory and truth — 
this is the history of every earnest soul; and never before 
was it portrayed with such magnificent imagery and in 
such melodious language. 

As will be readily comprehended, a striking feature of 
the poem is its unlikeness to actual life. In no small de- 
gree it appears artificial and unreal. The personages are 
somewhat shadowy. A large part of the incident and sen- 
timent belongs to an ideal age of chivalry. All this is apt 



Il8 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

to affect the realistic or prosaic reader unpleasantly. But 
the poem should be approached in the spirit with which it 
was written. Instead of stopping to criticise the ideas, 
fashions, and superstitions of the Middle Ages, we should 
surrender ourselves into the magician's hands, and follow 
him submissively and sympathetically through the ideal 
realms into which he leads us. The poem then becomes, 
in the words of Lowell, "the land of pure heart's ease, 
where no ache or sorrow of spirit can come." 

Spenser was surpassingly rich in imagination — that 
faculty without which no great poem is possible. He pos- 
sessed an extraordinary power for appreciating and por- 
traying beauty. His mind was extremely capacious ; and, 
gathering all the literary treasures of the past, whether 
mediaeval, classic, or Christian, he gave them new and 
fadeless forms. His invention was almost inexhaustible. 
His facility in description sometimes betrayed him into 
tedious excess. In his fondness for details, he occasionally 
wrote passages that are simply nauseating. His style 
lacks the classic qualities of brevity, force, and self-re- 
straint. But we shall nowhere else find a more flowing 
and melodious verse, an atmosphere of finer sentiment, 
and a larger movement or richer coloring. He may be 
fairly styled the Rubens of English poetry. Every canto 
of the " Faery Queene " presents passages in which 
thought, diction, and melody are combined in exquisite 
harmony. 



/ 




Houbraken. 



^ $mn. 



FRANCIS BACON. 119 



FRANCIS BACON. 

In this era of great writers the name of Francis Bacon, 
after those of Shakespeare and Spenser, stands easily first. 
He was great as a lawyer, as a statesman, as a philoso- 
pher, as an author — great in everything, alas ! but char- 
acter. Though his position in philosophy is still a matter 
of dispute, there can be little doubt that he deserves to 
rank with Plato and Aristotle, who for two thousand years 
ruled the philosophic world. 

It is claimed by some critics that Bacon's method of 
philosophizing is wanting in either novelty or value, and 
that no investigator follows his rules. There is much truth 
in this claim, and yet Bacon's influence in modern science 
is preeminent. That which has counted for most in his 
philosophical writings is his spirit. In proud recognition 
of modern ability and modern advantages, he threw off 
the tyranny of the ancients. " It would indeed be dis- 
honorable," he says, "to mankind if the regions of the 
material globe, the earth, the sea, the stars, should be so 
prodigiously developed and illustrated in our age, and yet 
the boundaries of the intellectual globe should be confined 
to the narrow discoveries of the ancients." 

He looked upon knowledge, not as an end in itself, to be 
enjoyed as a luxury, but as a m^ans of usefulness in the 
service of men. The mission of philosophy is to amelio- 
rate man's condition, — to increase his power, to multiply 
his enjoyments, and to alleviate his sufferings. He dis- 



I20 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

carded the speculative philosophy which seeks to build up 
a system from the inner resources of the mind. However 
admirable in logical acuteness and consistency, such sys- 
tems are apt to be without truth or utility. *' The wit and 
mind of man," says Bacon, **if it work upon matter, which 
is the contemplation of the creatures of God, worketh 
according to the stuff and is limited thereby ; but if it 
work upon itself, as the spider worketh his web, then it 
is endless and brings forth indeed cobwebs of learning, 
admirable for the fineness of thread and work, but of no 
substance or profit." 

He constantly urged an investigation of nature, whereby 
philosophy might be planted on a solid foundation and 
receive continual accretions of truth. Investigation, ex- 
periment, verification — these are characteristic features 
of the Baconian philosophy and the powerful instruments 
with which modern science has achieved its marvellous 
results. 

Francis Bacon was born in London, Jan. 22, 1561. 
His father, Sir Nicholas Bacon, was a man full of wit and 
wisdom, comprehensive in intellect, retentive to a re- 
markable degree in memory, and so dignified in appear- 
ance and bearing that Queen Elizabeth was accustomed to 
say, " My Lord Keeper's soul is well lodged." His mother 
was no less remarkable as a woman. She was the daugh- 
ter of Sir Anthony Cooke, tutor to King Edward VL, 
from whom she received a careful education. She was 
distinguished not only for her womanly and conjugal vir- 
tues, but also for her learning, having translated a work 
from Italian and another from Latin. 

Thus Bacon was fortunate in his parents, whose intel- 



FRANCIS BACON. 121 

lectual superiority he inherited, and also in the time of his 
birth, **when," as he says, "learning had made her third 
circuit ; when the art of printing gave books with a liberal 
hand to men of all fortunes ; when the nation had emerged 
from the dark superstitions of popery ; when peace through- 
out all Europe permitted the enjoyment of foreign travel 
and free ingress to foreign scholars ; and, above all, when 
a sovereign of the highest intellectual attainments, at the 
same time that she encouraged learning and learned men, 
gave an impulse to the arts and a chivalric and refined 
tone to the manners of the people." 

He was delicate in constitution, but extraordinary in in- 
tellectual power. Son of a Lord Keeper, a nephew of a 
Secretary of State, he was brought up in surroundings 
that were highly favorable to intellectual culture and ele- 
gant manners. His youthful precocity attracted attention. 
Queen Elizabeth, delighted with his childish wisdom and 
gravity, playfully called him her "Young Lord Keeper." 
When she asked him one day how old he was, with a deli- 
cate courtesy beyond his years, he replied, " Two years 
younger than your majesty's happy reign." His disposi- 
tion was reflective and serious ; and it is related of him 
that he stole away from his playmates to indulge his spirit 
of investigation. 

At the early age of thirteen he matriculated in Trinity 
College, Cambridge, and, with rare penetration, soon dis- 
covered the leading defects in the higher education of the 
time. The principle of authority prevailed in instruction 
to the suppression of free inquiry. The university was 
engaged, not in broadening the field of knowledge by 
discovery of new truth, but in disseminating simply the 



122 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

wisdom of the ancients. Aristotle was dictator, from 
whose utterances there was no appeal. " In the univer- 
sities," he says, *' all things are found opposite to the 
advancement of the sciences ; for the readings and exer- 
cises are here so managed that it cannot easily come into 
any one's mind to think of things out of the common 
road; or if, here and there, one should venture to use 
a liberty of judging, he can only impose the task upon 
himself without obtaining assistance from his fellows ; 
and, if he could dispense with this, he will still 'find his 
industry and resolution a great hindrance to his fortune. 
For the studies of men in such places are confined and 
pinned down to the writings of certain authors, from 
which, if any man happens to differ, he is presently 
reprehended as a disturber and innovator." 

Though meeting with little sympathy in his spirit of 
free investigation, Bacon still followed the bent of his 
genius. While yet a student, he planned the immortal 
work which was to influence the subsequent course of 
philosophy. His opinions of the defects existing in the 
universities were only confirmed by age. Some years 
after leaving Cambridge, he advocated the establishment 
of a college which should be devoted to the discovery of 
new truths — "a living spring to mix with the stagnant 
waters." He complained that there was no school for 
the training of statesmen, — a fact that seemed to him 
prejudicial, not only to science, but also to the state, — 
and that the weighty affairs of the kingdom were in- 
trusted to men whose only qualifications were a "knowl- 
edge of Latin and Greek, and verbal criticisms upon the 
dead languages." 



FRANCIS BACON. 1 23 

After a residence of three years at the university, he 
went to Paris under the care of the Enghsh ambassador 
at the French court. He was sent on a secret mission 
to EHzabeth and discharged its duties with such abihty 
as to win the queen's approbation. He afterward trav- 
elled in the French provinces and met many distin- 
guished men — statesmen, philosophers, authors — who 
were impressed by his extraordinary gifts and attain- 
ments. The death of his father recalled him to England 
in 1579; and finding himself without adequate means to 
lead a life of philosophic investigation, it became neces- 
sary for him, as he expresses it, ''to think how to live, 
instead of living only to think." 

The two roads open to him were law and politics, and 
with his antecedents he naturally inclined to the latter. 
He applied to his uncle. Lord Burleigh, for a position ; 
but the prime minister, fearing, it is said, the abilities 
of his nephew, used his influence to prevent the young 
applicant from obtaining a place of importance and emol- 
ument. Thus disappointed in his hopes. Bacon was 
reluctantly obliged to betake himself to the law. He 
gave himself with industry to his calling, and in a few 
years attained distinction for legal knowledge and skill. 
As might naturally be supposed from the philosophic 
cast of his mind, his studies were not confined to prece- 
dents and authorities, but extended to the universal 
principles of justice and the whole circle of knowledge. 
In 1590 he was made counsel-extraordinary to the queen 
— a position, it seems, of more honor than profit. 

With this appointment began his political career. He 
sought worldly honors and wealth, but chiefly, as there 



ly^ 



124 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

is reason to believe, in order that he might at last enjoy 
a competency, which would allow him to retire from 
official cares and pursue his philosophical studies with- 
out distraction. In 1592 he was elected a member of 
Parliament from Middlesex. He advocated comprehen- 
sive improvements in the law. On one occasion he in- 
curred the queen's displeasure by opposing the early 
payment of certain subsidies to which the House had 
consented. When her displeasure was formally com- 
municated to him, he calmly replied that " he spoke in 
discharge of his conscience and duty to God, to the 
queen, and to his country." 

His connection with Parliament was characterized by 
activity, and his integrity at this time kept him from 
sacrificing the interests of England at the foot of the 
throne. As an orator he became affluent, weighty, and 
eloquent. '' No man," says Ben Jonson, '* ever spake more 
neatly, more pressly, more weightily, or suffered less emp- 
tiness, less idleness in what he uttered : no member of his 
speech but consisted of its own graces. His hearers 
could not cough or look aside from him without loss ; he 
commanded when he spoke, and had his judges angry and 
pleased at his devotion. No man had their affections 
more in his power ; the fear of every man that heard him 
was lest he should make an end." 

In 1594 the office of solicitor-general became vacant, 
and Bacon set to work to obtain it. Every influence 
within his reach was brought to bear upon the queen. 
Lord Essex, the favorite of Ehzabeth, interested himself 
especially in his behalf. But every effort proved unavail- 
ing. Bacon, like Spenser, felt the bitterness of seeking 



FRANCIS BACON. 1 25 

preferment at court, and complained that he was Hke a 
child following a bird which, when almost within reach, 
continually flew farther. "I am weary of it," he said, "as 
also of wearying my friends." 

To assuage his keen disappointment, Essex bestowed 
upon him an estate, valued at eighteen hundred pounds, 
in the beautiful village of Twickenham. The earl con- 
tinued to befriend him through a long period. When 
Bacon wished to marry Lady Hatton, a woman of large 
fortune, Essex supported his suit with a strong letter to 
her parents. But in spite of Bacon's merit and his noble 
patron's warmth, the heart of the lady remained un- 
touched ; and fortunately for Bacon, as a biographer sug- 
gestively remarks, she afterward became the wife of his 
great rival. Sir Edward Coke. 

When, a few years later, Essex, through his imprudence, 
incurred the queen's disfavor, and by treason forfeited his 
life. Bacon appeared against him. For this act he has 
been severely censured. Macaulay, especially, in his fa- 
mous essay, displays the zeal of an advocate in making 
him appear in a bad light, affirming that ** he exerted his 
professional talents to shed the earl's blood, and his lit- 
erary talents to blacken the earl's memory." Though it 
cannot be maintained that Bacon acted the part of a high- 
minded, generous friend, or that his course was "in any 
way justifiable, an impartial survey of the facts does not 
justify Macaulay's severity. 

In 1597 Bacon published a collection of ten essays, 
which were afterward increased to fifty-eight. If he had 
written nothing else, these alone would have entitled him 
to an honorable place in English literature. Though brief 



1/ 



126 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

in form, they are weighty in thought. The style is clear ; 
and the language, as in the essay on "Adversity," often 
rises into great beauty. They were composed, as he tells 
us, as a recreation from severer studies, but contain, never- 
theless, the richest results of his thinking and experience. 
They were popular from the time of their publication ; 
they were at once translated into French, Italian, and 
Latin, and no fewer than six editions appeared during 
the author's life. 

An extract or two will illustrate their style. In the 
essay on "■ Adversity," he says : — 

" The virtue of prosperity is temperance, the virtue of 
adversity is fortitude, which in morals is the more heroical 
virtue. Prosperity is the blessing of the Old Testament, 
adversity is the blessing of the New, which carrieth the 
greater benediction, and the clearer revelation of God's 
favor. Yet, even in the Old Testament, if you listen to 
David's harp, you shall hear as many hearse-like airs as 
carols ; and the pencil of the Holy Ghost hath labored 
more in describing the afflictions of Job than the felicities 
of Solomon. Prosperity is not without many fears and 
distastes ; and adversity is not without comforts and 
hopes." 

In the essay on " Studies," which is one of the most 
compact and thoughtful of them all, we find the oft-quoted 
passage : — 

" Studies serve for delight, for ornament, and for ability. 
Their chief use for delight is in privateness and retiring ; 
for ornament, is in discourse ; and for ability, is in the 
judgment and disposition of business : for expert men can 
execute, and perhaps judge of particulars, one by one ; 



FRANCIS BACON. 12/ 

but the general counsels, and the plots and marshalling of 
affairs, come best from those that are learned. To spend 
too much time in studies, is sloth ; to use them too much 
for ornament, is affectation ; to make judgment wholly by 
their rules, is the humor of a scholar : they perfect na- 
ture, and are perfected by experience : for natural abilities 
are like natural plants, that need pruning by study ; and 
studies themselves do give forth directions too much at 
large, except they be bounded in by experience. Crafty 
men contemn studies, simple men admire them, and wise 
men use them ; for they teach not their own use, but that 
is a wisdom without them and above them, won by obser- 
vation. Read not to contradict and confute, nor to be- 
lieve and take for granted, nor to find talk and discourse, 
but to weigh and consider. Some books are to be tasted, 
others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and 
digested ; that is, some books are to be read only in parts, 
others to be read, but not curiously ; and some few to be 
read wholly, and with diligence and attention." 

Though it is through his other writings — the *' Novum 
Organum " and '' The Advancement of Learning" — that 
he has exerted the greatest influence, it is the " Essays " 
that have been most widely read, coming home, as he says, 
" to men's business and bosoms." Archbishop Whately 
said : " I am old-fashioned enough to admire Bacon, whose 
remarks are taken in and assented to by persons of ordi- 
nary capacity, and seem nothing very profound ; but when 
a man comes to reflect and observe, and his faculties en- 
large, he then sees more in them than he did at first, 
and more still as he advances further ; his admiration of 
Bacon's profundity increasing as he himself grows intel- 



y 



128 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

lectually. Bacon's wisdom is like the seven-league boots, 
which would fit the giant or the dwarf, except only that 
the dwarf cannot take the same stride in them." 

The distinguished Scotch philosopher, Dugald Stewart, 
bears similar testimony, which indeed is confirmed by the 
judgment of every competent reader: "The small volume 
to which he has given the title of ' Essays,' the b.est known 
and " the most popular of all his works, is one of those 
where the superiority of his genius appears to the greatest 
advantage ; the novelty and depth of his reflections often 
receiving a strong relief from the triteness of the subject. 
It may be read from beginning to end in a few hours, and 
yet after the twentieth perusal one seldom fails to remark 
in it something overlooked before. This, indeed, is a 
characteristic of all Bacon's writings, and is only to be 
accounted for by the inexhaustible aliment they furnish to 
our own thoughts, and the sympathetic activity they im- 
part to our torpid faculties." 

After the accession of James I. in 1603, whose favor he 
made great efforts to placate. Bacon rose rapidly in posi- 
tion and honor. That year he was elevated to the order 
of knighthood, and the following year appointed salaried 
counsel to the king — a mark of favor almost without prec- 
edent. In 161 3 he was advanced to the office of attorney- 
general. In 161 7 he was created Lord Keeper of the 
Great Seal of England — a dignity of which he was proud ; 
and the following year he was made Lord High Chancel- 
lor, the summit of his ambition and political elevation. 

Fond of elegant surroundings, he lived in great state, 
with liveried servants, beautiful mansions, and magnificent 
gardens. He was inconsiderate and lavish in his expendi- 



FRANCIS BACON. 1 29 

tures ; and while laboring with conscientious fidelity to 
improve the laws of the kingdom and to facilitate the 
administration of justice, his personal character, it must 
be acknowledged, did not remain above suspicion and 
reproach. He was unduly subservient to the king; and 
to maintain his outward splendor, he accepted presents, if 
not bribes, from persons interested in his judicial decisions. 
Being tried by Parliament, he made confession to twenty- 
eight charges of corruption, whereupon he was condemned 
to pay a fine of forty thousand pounds, to be imprisoned 
in the Tower during the king's pleasure, and to be de- 
barred from any office in the state. Thus, in 1621, Bacon 
fell from his high position, ruined in fortune and broken 
in spirit. Though released from the Tower after an im- 
prisonment of two days, and relieved also of the payment 
of the fine, he never recovered from his disgrace. 

It is difficult now to determine the extent of his guilt. 
It is certain that he was not, what Pope pronounced him, 
"the meanest of mankind." The truth probably is that he 
was morally weak rather than basely corrupt. Though 
he received presents or bribes, it can hardly be shown that 
he purposely perverted justice. It was not unusual for 
judges at that day to receive presents. There is no 
sufficient reason to doubt his sincerity and justice when 
he wrote : " For the briberies and gifts wherewith I am 
charged, when the book of hearts shall be opened, I hope 
I shall not be found to have the troubled fountain of the 
corrupt heart, in a depraved habit of taking rewards to 
pervert justice ; howsoever I may be frail, and partake of 
the abuses of the time." He was, in some measure, a 
victim of secret enmity and parliamentary clamor; and in 

K 



130 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

his will he did wisely to appeal from the prejudice about 
him to the impartial judgment of posterity. "For my 
name and memory," he pathetically writes, ** I leave it 
to men's charitable speeches, to foreign nations, and the 
next ages." 

The colossal cast of Bacon's mind is seen in his great 
philosophical scheme entitled the " Instauratio Magna, or 
the Great Institution of True Philosophy," which embodies 
his principal writings. It was to consist of six parts, the 
completion of which was necessarily beyond the power of 
one man or even of one age : — 

I. Divisions of the Sciences. " This part exhibits a 
summary, or universal description, of such science and 
learning as mankind is, up to this time, in possession of." 

II. Novum Organum ; Precepts for the Interpretation of 
Nature. "The object of the second part is the doctrine 
touching a better and more perfect use of reasoning in the 
investigation of things, and the true helps of the under- 
standing; that it may by this means be raised, as far as 
our human and mortal nature will admit, and be enlarged 
in its powers so as to master the arduous and obscure 
secrets of nature." 

III. Phenomena of the Universe ; or, Natural and Ex- 
peri^nental History on wJiicJi to found Philosophy. " The 
third part of our work embraces the phenomena of the 
universe ; that is to say, experience of every kind, and such 
a natural history as can form the foundation of an edifice 
of philosophy." 

IV. Scale of Understanding. " The fourth part ... is 
in fact nothing more than a particular and fully developed 
application of the second part." 



FRANCIS BACON. 131 

V. Preairsors or Anticipations of the Second Philosophy. 
" We compose this fifth part of the work of those matters 
which we have either discovered, tried, or added." 

VI. Sound Philosophy, or Active Science. " Lastly, the 
sixth part of our work (to which the rest are subservient 
and auxiUary) discloses and propounds that philosophy 
which is reared and formed by the legitimate, pure, and 
strict method of investigation previously taught and pre- 
pared. But it is both beyond our power and expectation 
to perfect and conclude this last part." 

In the first part of this vast scheme Bacon embodied, 
in a revised form, the "Advancement of Learning," his 
earliest philosophical work, published in 1605. It made 
a complete survey of the field of learning, for the purpose 
of indicating what departments of knowledge had received 
due attention, and what subjects yet needed cultivation. 
It is a rich mine of wisdom and learning. But the most 
celebrated part of the "Instauratio Magna" is the "Novum 
Organum," in which Bacon's philosophical method is un- 
folded. It is written in the form of aphorisms, several of 
which, including the first, are here given as indicating the 
character of the whole work : — 

" I. Man, as the minister and interpreter of nature, does 
and understands as much as his observations on the order 
of nature, either with regard to things or the mind, permit 
him, and neither knows nor is capable of more. 

" IX. The sole cause and root of almost every defect in 
the sciences is this ; that whilst we falsely admire and 
extol the powers of the human mind, we do not search for 
its real helps. 

" XIX. There are and can exist but two ways of investi- 



132 ENGLISH LITERATURE, 

gating and discovering truth. The one hurries on rapidly, 
from the senses and particulars to the most general axioms; 
and from them as principles and their supposed indisputa- 
ble truth derives and discovers the intermediate axioms. 
This is the way now in use. The other constructs its axioms 
from the senses and particulars, by ascending continually 
and gradually, till it finally arrives at the most general 
axioms, which is the true but unattempted way." 

A well-known and valuable portion of the " Novum 
Organum " is the discussion of the influences which warp 
the human mind in the pursuit of truth. These warping 
influences Bacon calls idols ; and his exposition of the 
subject, which cannot be fully inserted here, has never 
been surpassed in analytical scope and power. 

*' XXXIX. Four species of idols beset the human mind; 
to which, for distinction's sake, we have assigned names, 
calling the first, idols of the tribe ; the second, idols of the 
den ; the third, idols of the market ; the fourth, idols of 
the theatre. 

"XLI. The idols of the tribe are inherent in human 
nature, and the very tribe or race of man. For man's 
sense is falsely asserted to be the standard of things. On 
the contrary, all the perceptions, both of the senses and 
the mind, bear reference to man, and not to the universe, 
and the human mind resembles those uneven mirrors, 
which impart their own properties to different objects, 
from which rays are emitted, and distort and disfigure 
them. 

''XLII. The idols of the den are those of each individ- 
ual. For everybody (in addition to the errors common to 
the race of man) has his own individual den or cavern, 



FRANCIS BACON. 1 33 

which intercepts and corrupts the light of nature ; either 
from his own peculiar and singular disposition, or from 
his education and intercourse with others, or from his "read- 
ing, and the authority acquired by those whom he rever- 
ences and admires, or from the different impressions 
produced on the mind, as it happens to be preoccupied 
and predisposed, or equable and tranquil, and the like ; 
so that the spirit of man (according to its several disposi- 
tions) is variable, confused, and, as it were, actuated by 
chance ; and Heraclitus said well that men search for 
knowledge in lesser worlds, and not in the greater or 
common world. 

"XLIII. There are also idols formed by the reciprocal 
intercourse and society of man with man, which we call 
idols of the market, from the commerce and association of 
men with each other. For men converse by means of lan- 
guage ; but words are formed at the will of the generality ; 
and there arises from a bad and unapt formation of words 
a wonderful obstruction to the mind. Nor can the defini- 
tions and explanations, with which learned men' are wont 
to guard and protect themselves in some instances, afford 
a complete remedy; words still manifestly force the under- 
standing, throw everything into confusion, and lead man- 
kind into vain and innumerable controversies and fallacies. 

"XLIV. Lastly, there are idols which have crept into 
men's minds from the various dogmas of peculiar systems 
of philosophy, and also from the perverted rules of demon- 
stration, and these we denominate idols of the theatre. 
For we regard all the systems of philosophy hitherto re- 
ceived or imagined, as so many plays brought out and 
performed, creating fictitious and theatrical worlds." 



134 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

However much men may differ in their estimate of 
Bacon's method and position in philosophy, all agree in 
recognizing his intellectual greatness. It would be easy 
to fill pages with the glowing tributes that have been paid 
him, not only by English, but also by French and German, 
writers. Hallam, who is not given to inconsiderate pane- 
gyric, says : " If we compare what mary be found in the 
sixth, seventh, and eighth books ' De Augmentis ' ; in the 
* Essays,' the ' History of Henry VII.,' and the various short 
treatises contained in his works on moral and political 
wisdom, and on human nature, from experience of which 
all such wisdom is drawn, with the Rhetoric, Ethics, and 
Politics of Aristotle, or with the historians most celebrated 
for their deep insight into civil society and human char- 
acter ; with Thucydides, Tacitus, Philip de Comines, Ma- 
chiavel, Davila, Hume, we shall, I think, find that one 
man may almost be compared with all of these together." 

An able German scholar assigns Bacon a high rank as 
a philosopher and educator because he was " the first to 
say to the learned men who lived and toiled in the lan- 
guages and writings of antiquity, and who were mostly 
only echoes of the old Greeks and Romans, yea, who knew 
nothing better than to be such : ' There is also a present, 
only open your eyes to recognize its splendor. Turn away 
from the shallow springs of traditional natural science, 
and draw from the unfathomable and ever freshly flowing 
fountain of creation. Live in nature with active senses ; 
ponder it in your thoughts, and learn to comprehend it, 
for thus you will be able to control it. Power increases 
with knowledge.' " ^ 

1 Raumer, " Geschichte tier Padagogik." 



FRANCIS BACON. 1 35 

Bacon had unswerving faith in the power of truth, and 
he confidently looked forward to a time when the value of 
his teachings would be recognized. The fulfilment of the 
following prediction establishes the character and mission 
of the prophet : " I have held up a light in the obscurity 
of philosophy," he says, ''which will be seen centuries 
after I am dead. It will be seen amid the erection of 
temples, tombs, palaces, theatres, bridges, making noble 
roads, cutting canals, granting multitudes of charters and 
liberties for comfort of decayed companies and corpora- 
tions ; the foundation of colleges and lectures for learning 
and the education of youth ; foundations and institutions 
of orders and fraternities for nobility, enterprise, and 
obedience ; but, above all, the establishing good laws for 
the regulation of the kingdom, and as an example to 
the world." 



136 ENGLISH LITERATURE, 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

From the time of Chaucer to the present day, England 
has produced many great writers — almost colossal figures 
in universal literature. Chaucer, Spenser, Bacon, Milton, 
Tennyson — these are great names ; but by common con- 
sent Shakespeare towers above them all. The case is not 
altered when we take into account other nations. Greece 
had its Homer; Rome, its Virgil; Italy, its Dante; Ger- 
many, its Goethe ; France, its Hugo. But if the judgment 
of competent critics were taken, Shakespeare would be 
placed on the throne as king among great writers, living 
and dead. 

If the great dramatist had left an autobiography, we 
should esteem it one of our greatest literary treasures. If 
some Boswell had dogged his footsteps, noted carefully the 
incidents of his everyday life, and recorded the sentiments 
and thoughts that dropped spontaneously from his hps, 
how eagerly we should read the book to gain a clearer 
insight into the great master's soul. As it is, we are shut 
up to very meagre records, to names and dates found in 
business accounts or legal documents ; and the greatest 
genius of all literature is concealed behind his works almost 
in the haze of a myth. We are dependent, not upon his- 
tory, but upon fancy, to fill up the measure of what must 
have been an interesting, varied, and bountiful life. 

WiUiam Shakespeare w^as born in Stratford-on-Avon, 




Etched by Leopold Flaming after the Chandos painting. 



/<7v^va^ ^CjU.ff^'^f^- 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. I 37 

April 23, 1564. On his father's side, he was of Saxon 
lineage ; on his mother's side, he was of Norman descent ; 
and in his character the qualities of these two races — 
Saxon sturdiness and Norman versatility — were exquis- 
itely harmonized. His father, John Shakespeare, was a 
glover, wool-dealer, and yeoman, who attained prominence 
in Stratford as an alderman and bailiff. He was a man of 
substantial qualities, and for many years lived in easy cir- 
cumstances ; but afterward, when his son was passing into 
early manhood, he suffered a sad decline in fortune. Will- 
iam's "mother, Mary Arden, was brought up on a landed 
estate ; and besides inheriting from her the finer qualities 
of his mind, the future poet probably learned under her 
influence to appreciate the exceeding beauty of gentle and 
tender womanhood. 

His education was received in the free school of Strat- 
ford, and included, besides the elementary branches of 
English, the rudiments of classical learning — the "small 
Latin and less Greek " which Ben Jonson attributed to 
him. His acquisitive powers were extraordinary ; and, as 
is evident from his works, this elementary training, which 
appears so inadequate, was afterward increased by rich 
stores of learning and wisdom. He exhibits not only a 
wide general knowledge, but also a technical acquaintance 
with several callings, including law, medicine, and divinity. 

In 1582, at the youthful age of eighteen, he married Ann 
Hathaway, who was eight years his senior. Whether the 
marriage was a matter of choice or, as some believe, a 
necessity forced upon him, does not clearly appear. His 
wife, the daughter of a substantial yeomen, was not un- 
worthy of him ; and the marriage was probably a love 



138 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

match, which proudly disdained the disparity in years. It 
is assumed by many critics that the union was necessarily 
an unhappy one ; but an examination of the evidence leads 
to a different conclusion. In his sonnets there arCv several 
loving passages that seem to refer to his wife ; and as soon 
as he had acquired wealth in his theatrical career in the 
metropolis, he returned to Stratford to spend his last years 
in the bosom of his family. 

Several years after his marriage, at the age of twenty- 
two, he went to London. There is a tradition that his 
departure from Stratford was the result of a deer-stealing 
escapade, for which he was sharply prosecuted by an irate 
landlord. Though the poaching is probably not a myth, 
his departure may be satisfactorily explained on other 
grounds. Conscious no doubt of his native genius, it was 
but natural for him to seek his fortune amidst the oppor- 
tunities afforded in a large city. 

His poetic gifts and his acquaintance with the drama, as 
learned through visiting troupes in his native village, natu- 
rally drew him to the theatre. He held at first a subordi- 
nate position, and worked upward by degrees. He recast 
plays and performed as an actor, for which his handsome 
and shapely form peculiarly fitted him. *' The top of his 
performance," says an old historian, "was the Ghost in his 
own Hamlet." His progress was rapid, and at the end of 
six years he had achieved no small reputation. His suc- 
cess aroused the envy of some of his fellow-playwrights ; 
and Greene, in a scurrilous pamphlet, accused him of plagi- 
arism, calling him '' an upstart crow beautified with our 
feathers." 

His ability attracted the attention of the court and the 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. I 39 

nobility. To the young Earl of Southampton he dedicated 
in 1593 his '* Venus and Adonis," which the poet, in a short 
and manly dedicatory letter, styles " the first heir of my 
invention " ; and in return he is said to have received from 
that nobleman the princely gift of a thousand pounds. In 
Spenser's " Colin Clout's Come Home Again," we find this 
reference to Shakespeare : — 

" And here, though last not least, is Aetion ; 
A gentler shepherd may nowhere be found ; 
Whose muse, full of high thought's invention, 
Doth, like himself, heroically sound." 

His plays delighted Ehzabeth, who was a steady patron 
of the drama ; and there is a tradition that the queen was 
so pleased with Falstaff in " King Henry the Fourth," 
that she requested the poet to continue the character in 
another play and to portray him in love. The result was 
"The Merry Wives of Windsor." 

Unlike many of his fellow-dramatists, Shakespeare 
avoided a life of extravagance and dissipation. He showed 
that high literary genius is not inconsistent with business 
sagacity. Not content with being actor and author, he be- 
came a large shareholder in the Blackfriars and the Globe, 
the two leading theatres of his day. Wealth accumulated ; 
and with an affectionate remembrance of his native town, 
he purchased in 1597 a handsome residence in Stratford. 
He continued to make judicious investments; and a careful 
estimate places his income in 1608 at about four hundred 
pounds a year — equivalent to $12,000 at the present time. 

We have several pleasing glimpses of his social life in 
London. He had a reputation for civility and honesty ; 



I40 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

he frequented the Mermaid, where he met Ben Jonson and 
the other leading wits of his day. Beaumont probably had 
him in mind when he wrote : — 

" What things have we seen 
Done at the Mermaid ! Heard words that have been 
So nimble, and so full of subtile flame, 
As if that every one from whence they came 
Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest, 
And had resolved to live a fool the rest 
Of his dull life." 

The following testimony of the rough, upright Ben 
Jonson is of special value : " I loved the man, and do 
honor his memory, on this side idolatry, as much as any. 
He was indeed honest, and of an open and free nature ; 
had an excellent phantasy, brave notions, and gentle 
expressions." 

With wealth and genius, it was not unnatural for the 
poet to desire a higher social rank. Accordingly, we find 
that in 1599, no doubt through his influence, a coat-of- 
arms was granted to his father. He grew tired of the 
actor's profession, chafing under its low social standing 
and its enslaving exactions upon his time and person. In 
one of his sonnets he writes : — 

" Alas ! 'tis true I have gone here and there. 
And made myself a motley to the view ; 
Gor'd mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear, 
Made old offences of affections new ; 
Most times it is that I have looked on truth 
Askance and strangely." 

It is probable that Shakespeare ceased to be an actor in 
1604, though he continued to write for the stage, and pro- 



41 



i/DtC.r^Rr'i.iVM Gf.NK) .SoC»ATEM.>i^1T M^J<ONEH 
'IF;.ka/ TKGit KXVLVS tl^JET r)i.YMIV« HABB 

'iVh< Bf^Sif,HCtR Wi/ Ca'*,$T ho/ B/ so FAST/ 
l«A.jyrW// CANST ■»«{*( fcNVK?/S Itefl H*Ti flA.ST 

fAfM*:«.Tf:NCO$r;SEHML 'i' He HaH wkitt 
I .urn i.r/iNG w*r. ir/T H«e. to sjkve his ■»« tt . 



HeF.RE LYFTH !NTKHRTt> T^?. BOB\' OkAnnR WIFF. 
OFjA/lLLi-^M SH^Kf.SJ'KAftF. ^^-HO i)KKrP,r> THIS LIFE TH: 

VBera tu maW.iu iac.vfeTii({ cl<?Ji.<li 
\W mihi pro feiito nmncre 6aTca dabo 

Exfat.chriSt) corpus., ini,i.|,o tu.\ 4»::x«t 

Sed ui! vo^A '..ilent venjA ciloChri-Sv/fipfuTjiPt: 

CteulA iictt tumiilo mater et asCta sx^vet 



Good frend for Iesvs sake for beare, 

TO Dice TIE DVST ENCLOASED VEARL'. 
BlESE be f MAN -^ SPAREJ-REI STONES, 
AND CVRST BE HE ^ MOVES MY BONEs'. 



The gravestones of Shakespeare and his wife Anne rest side by side 
upon the second step of the altar in the chancel of Holy Trinity Church. 
A flat stone with the large inscription deeply engraved upon it covers 
Shakespeare's remains. Of the two small inscriptions, the one at the 
right is upon a brass plate set into the stone which rests upon the grave 
of Shakespeare's wife Anne. The one upon the left — 

Judicio Pulium cenio Socratem arte Moronem 
Terra tecit populus maeret Olumpus habet. 

Stay Passenger ; why goest thou by so fast, 

Read, if thou canst, whom envious death has plast 

"Within this monument, Shakspeare, withom 

Quick Nature dide ; whose name doth deck ys. tombe 

Far more than cost ; sith all yt. he hath writt 

Leaves living art but page to serve his witt. 

Obiit Ano. Doi 1616. 
Etatis 53. Die 23. Ap. 

is upon a marble tablet directly below the Monumental Bust of Shake- 
speare. 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. I4I 

duced all his greatest masterpieces after that date. About 
161 1 he retired to his native town to live in quiet domestic 
enjoyment. How great the contrast with the excitements, 
labors, and vanities of his career in London ! The last 
five years of his life were spent in domestic comforts, local 
interests, the entertainment of friends, the composition of 
one or two great dramas, with an occasional visit to the 
scene of his former struggles and triumphs. He died 
April 23, 1616, on the anniversary of his birth, and was 
buried in the parish church of Stratford. If we may 
credit tradition, he rose from a sick bed to entertain 
Jonson and Drayton, and the convivial excesses of the 
occasion brought on a fatal relapse. His tomb bears the 
following inscription : — 

" Good friend, for Jesus' sake forbear, 
To dig the dust enclosed here : 
Blest be the man that spares these stones, 
And curst be he that moves my bones." 

Summing up his character, as gleaned from hints scat- 
tered through the scanty biographic materials, Hudson 
justly says: "There is enough, I think, to show that in 
all the common dealings of life he was eminently gentle, 
candid, upright, and judicious; open-hearted, genial, and 
sweet in his social intercourses; among his companions 
and friends full of playful wit and sprightly grace ; kind 
to the faults of others, severe to his own ; quick to discern 
and acknowledge merit in another, modest and slow of 
finding it in himself; while, in the smooth and happy 
marriage, which he seems to have realized, of the highest 
poetry and art with successful and systematic prudence in 



142 * ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

business affairs, we have an example of compact and well- 
rounded practical manhood, such as may justly engage 
our admiration and respect." 

Were the meagre facts in the outward life of this great 
man all that we know of him, how incomplete and unsatis- 
factory our knowledge ! But there is another life besides 
the outward and visible one — a life of the soul. It is by 
the aims, thoughts, and feelings of this interior life that the 
character and greatness of a man are to be judged. Out- 
ward circumstances are, in a large measure, fortuitous ; at 
most they but aid or hinder the operations of the spirit 
within — plume or clip its wings. It is when we turn to 
this interior life of Shakespeare, and measure its creations 
and experiences, that we learn his unapproachable great- 
ness. Many other authors have surpassed him in the 
variety and splendor of outward circumstances ; many 
warriors and statesmen and princes have been occupied 
with larger national interests ; but where is the man that 
can compare with him in the richness and extent of this 
life of the soul } 

There is no class of society, from kings to beggars, from 
queens to hags, with which he has not entered into the 
closest sympathy, thinking their thoughts and speaking 
their words. By his overpowering intuition, he compre- 
hended, in all their extent, the various hopes, fears, 
desires, and passions of the human heart ; and, as occasion 
arose, he gave them the most perfect utterance they have 
ever found. Every age and country — early England, 
mediaeval Italy, ancient Greece and Rome — were all 
seized in their essential features. 

There were no thoughts too high for his strong intellect 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 1 43 

to grasp ; and the great world of nature, with its mysteries, 
its abounding beauty, its subtle harmonies, its deep moral 
teachings, he irradiated with the light of his genius. If, as 
a poet has said, ''we live in thoughts, not years, in feelings, 
not in figures on the dial," how infinitely rich the quarter 
of a century Shakespeare spent in London ! In com- 
parison with his all-embracing experience, the career of an 
Alexander, or Caesar, or Napoleon, with its far extending 
ambition and manifold interests, loses its towering great- 
ness ; for the English poet lived more than they all. 

One great ground of Shakespeare's preeminence is his 
sanity. He was singularly free from the eccentricity and 
one-sidedness that so often accompany genius. His mar- 
vellous power in seeing clearly and judging justly will be 
more clearly understood by comparing him with recent 
schools or tendencies in literature. For nearly a century 
the literary world has been divided into romanticists and 
reaHsts. The former emphasize the ideal side of life, and 
in extreme types run into extravagance ; the latter empha- 
size what is actual in life, often showing preference for the 
low and immoral. Both tendencies represent truth in part; 
but in Shakespeare we find them held in equal balance. 
The ideal and the real are harmoniously blended in him as 
in actual life. He saw and judged life in its completeness. 

It is a mistake to suppose that Shakespeare owed every- 
thing to nature, and that in his productions he was guided 
alone by instinct. This view was maintained by his earli- 
est biographer, Rowe, who says : " Art had so little, and 
nature so large a share in what Shakespeare did, that for 
aught I know the performances of his youth were the 
best." 



144 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

But Ben Jonson shows a keener discernment: — 

" Yet must I not give Nature all : thy Art, 
My gentle Shakespeare, must enjoy a part. 
For a good Poet's made, as well as born. 
And such wert thou." 

An examination of his works in their chronological order 
shows that his genius underwent a process of development, 
and was perfected by study, knowledge, and experience. 
His earliest dramas, such as " Henry VL, " *' Love's 
Labor's Lost," ''Comedy of Errors," and "The Two Gen- 
tlemen of Verona," all of which were 'composed prior to 
1 591, are lacking in the freedom and perfection of his 
later works. They show the influence of the contemporary 
stage, and declamation often takes the place of genuine 
passion. 

But after this apprentice work, the poet passed into the 
full possession of his powers, and produced, during what 
may be regarded the middle period of his literary career, 
an uninterrupted succession of masterpieces, among which 
may be mentioned " The Merchant of Venice," " A Mid- 
summer Night's Dream," ''Romeo and Juliet," "As You 
Like It," " Hamlet," and most of his English historical 
plays. All these appeared before 1600. With increasing 
age and experience, the poet passed on to profounder 
themes. It was during this final stage of his development 
that he gave " King Lear," " Macbeth," and " Othello " to 
the world, the two former in 1605 and the latter in 1609. 

But in one particular his earlier and his later dramas are 
alike. The personality of the poet is concealed in them 
all. He enters into sympathy with all his creations, but he 
can be identified with none. He is greater than any one 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 1 45 

of them, or than all of them combined ; for it is in him 
that they all originated and find their unity. Thus to 
create and project into the world a large number of inde- 
pendent beings is an evidence of the highest genius. 
Byron could not do it ; for through all his works, whatever 
may be the names of his characters, we recognize the law- 
less, passionate, misanthropic poet himself. The same is 
true of Goethe and Victor Hugo, who embody in their 
works their didactic principles or their idealized experi- 
ence. Among the world's great writers, Shakespeare and 
Homer almost alone are hidden behind their works Hke a 
mysterious presence. 

Shakespeare possessed a profound knowledge of his art. 
This is obvious both from Hamlet's famous instruction to 
the players and from the structure of his dramas. He 
has been criticised for discarding classic rules ; but the 
censure is most unjust. Genius has an inalienable right to 
prescribe its own creative forms. He laid aside the ham- 
pering models of antiquity in order to give the world a new 
and richer dramatic form. The simple action of the ancient 
drama could not be adjusted to his great and complex 
themes. His works possess the one great essential char- 
acteristic — that of organic unity. After Shakespeare had 
completed his apprenticeship, his dramas embody an almost 
faultless structure; they are not pieces of elaborate and 
elegant patchwork, but of consistent and regular growth. 
We can but wonder at the range and power of that intel- 
lect which grasped a multitude of characters, brought them 
into contact, carried them through a great variety of inci- 
dents, portrayed with justice and splendor the profoundest 
feelings and thoughts, traced their reciprocal influence, and 



146 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

symmetrically conducted the whole to a striking and pre- 
determined conclusion. 

It scarcely detracts from his greatness that, instead of 
inventing his themes and characters, he borrowed them 
from history and literature. His borrowing was not slav- 
ish and weak. Whatever materials he appropriated from 
others, he reshaped and glorified ; and he is no more to be 
censured than is the sculptor who takes from the stone- 
cutter the rough marble that he afterward transforms 
into a Venus de' Medici or a Greek Slave. His works con- 
stitute a world in themselves ; and with its inhabitants — 
with Hamlet, Othello, Macbeth, Portia, Shylock, and many 
others — we are as well acquainted as with the personages 
of history. 

When Chatham was once asked where he had learned 
his English history, he replied, '' In the plays of Shake- 
speare." Nowhere else could he have better caught its 
spirit. In the historical plays of the great dramatist, the 
mediaeval history of England is made to live again ; not 
only its leading events are brought before us, but also its 
leading actors, animated by their moving passions. *' If 
the poet's work," says Green, "echoes sometimes our 
national prejudice and unfairness of temper, it is instinct 
throughout with our English humor, with our English love 
of hard fighting, our English faith in goodness, and in the 
doom that waits upon triumphant evil, our English pity 
for the fallen." 

The poet exhibits an almost perfect acquaintance with 
human nature. His creations are not personified moral 
qualities or individualized passions, but real persons. 
They are beings of flesh and blood ; but by their relations 



' 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 1 47 

and reciprocal influence they are lifted above the dull and 
commonplace. Shakespeare removes the veil that hides 
from common vision the awful significance of human in- 
fluence, and reveals it in its subtle workings and mighty 
results. He enables us to see, beneath a placid or rippling 
surface, the deep currents that move society. 

His types of noble men and women — Orlando, Hora- 
tio, Antonio, Portia, Hermione, Desdemona, and many 
others — are almost matchless. He furnishes us a gallery 
of exalted manhood and womanhood. Their goodness is 
beautiful in its ease, simplicity, and naturalness. *' The 
good they do, in doing it, pays itself ; if they do you a 
kindness, they are not at all solicitous to have you know 
*and remember it; if sufferings and hardships overtake 
them, if wounds and bruises be their portion, they never 
grumble or repine at it." And the women, to quote 
Hudson further, " are strong, tender, and sweet, yet never 
without a sufficient infusion of brisk natural acid and 
piquancy to keep their sweetness from palling on the 
taste ; they are full of fresh, healthy sentiment, but never 
at all touched with sentimentality." 

As his mode of expression was always suited to his 
changing characters, he exemplified every quality of style 
in turn. His faculties and taste were so exquisitely 
adjusted, that his manner was always in keeping with his 
matter. He drew with equal facility on the Saxon and 
the Latin elements of our language, and attained with 
both the same incomparable results. He had a prodigious 
faculty for language, surpassing in copiousness every other 
English writer. The only term that adequately describes 
his manner of writing is Shakespearian — a term that com- 



148 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

prehends a great deal. It includes vividness of imagina- 
tion, depth of thought, delicacy of feeling, carefulness of 
observation, discernment of hidden relations, and what- 
ever else may be necessary to clothe thought in expres- 
sions of supreme fitness and beauty. 

' Far above every other writer of ancient or modern times 
Shakespeare voices, in its manifold life, the human soul. 
This fact makes his works a storehouse of riches, to which 
we constantly turn. Are we oppressed at times with a 
morbid feeling of the emptiness of life .'' How perfectly 
Shakespeare voices our sentiment : — 

" Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player 
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, ^ 

And then is heard no more : it is a tale 
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, 
Signifying nothing." 

Or again : — 

" We are such stuff 

As dreams are made of, and our little life 

Is rounded with a sleep." 

If we recognize the fact that somehow there is a myste- 
rious power controlling our lives, we are told — 

" There's a divinity that shapes our ends, 
Rough-hew them how we will." 

But, as our consciousness tells us, we are not wholly at 
the mercy of this overruling agency : — 

" Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, 
Which we ascribe to heaven ; the fated sky 
Gives us free scope, only doth backward push 
Our slow designs when we ourselves are dull." 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 1 49 

What beautiful expression he gives to the trite observa- 
tion that contentment is better than riches ! 

" 'Tis better to be lowly born, 
And range with humble livers in content, 
Than to be perk'd up in glistering grief. 
And wear a golden sorrow." 

What clear expression he gives to the indistinct feeling 
of beauty that sometimes comes to us in the presence of 
some object in nature ! He surprises its secret, and 
embodies it in an imperishable word : — 

" How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank ! " 

But why multiply illustrations, when they are found on 
almost every page of his works ? 

And what shall be said of Shakespeare's influence ? He 
so entirely eclipsed his contemporary dramatists that their 
works are scarcely read. There are passages in his works 
that we could wish omitted — panderings to the corrupt 
taste of the time. But they are exceptional, and at heart 
the poet's sympathy, as in the case of every truly great 
man, is on the side of virtue. His writings, as a whole, 
carry with them the uplifting power of high thought, noble 
feeling, and worthy deeds. 

Many of his thoughts and characters pass into the intel- 
lectual life of each succeeding generation. " Hamlet," 
"The Merchant of Venice," and " Romeo and Juliet " are 
read by nearly every young student; and to have read 
any one of Shakespeare's masterpieces intelligently marks 
an epoch in the intellectual life of youth. But his dramas 
give pleasure not alone to the young. With minds en- 
riched by experience and study, we turn, in the midst of 



150 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

active life, to his works for recreation and instruction. He 
but appears greater with our enlarged capacity to appre- 
ciate him. If he gathered about him a circle of cultivated 
friends and admirers in his life, he has shown himself still 
stronger in death. The circle has widened until it com- 
prehends many lands. 

He has exerted a noteworthy influence upon foreign 
literature, especially in Germany and France. Translated 
into the languages of these countries, his works have been 
extensively studied, admired, and imitated. He is lectured 
on in German universities, and some of his ablest critics 
have been German and French. He has stimulated a 
prodigious amount of intellectual activity ; and his biog- 
raphers, editors, translators, critics, and commentators are 
numbered by the hundred. No other English author has 
gathered about him such an array of scholarship and liter- 
ary ability. 

There is no abatement of interest in his works. Socie- 
ties are organized for their systematic study, and periodicals 
are devoted to their illustration. There is no likelihood 
that he will ever be superseded; as he wrote in the proud 
presentiment of genius, — 

" Not marble, nor the gilded monuments 
Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme." 

Future ages will turn to his works as a mirror of nature, 
and find in them the most perfect expression of their deep- 
est and most precious experience. It is safe to say that 
his productions are as imperishable as the English lan- 
guage or the English race. 



1 



ADDENDUM ON THE DRAMA. 151 



ADDENDUM ON THE DRAMA. 

The essential thing in the drama is action. It is thus distinguished 
from the epic, which narrates heroic deeds, and from the lyric which 
expresses intense emotion. The drama presents a series of grave or 
humorous incidents that terminate in a striking result. Its ultimate 
basis is found in our natural love of imitation ; and hence it is not 
restricted to any race or age or country. India and China, Greece and 
Rome, no less than modern nations, delighted in dramatic exhibitions, 
and produced a notable dramatic literature. Obviously the drama is 
not inherently evil ; and if it has often been condemned by pagan sage 
and Christian teacher, the condemnation has been evoked by the 
degeneracy and dissoluteness of the stage. 

The principal species of the drama are tragedy and comedy. Trag- 
edy represents an important and serious action, which usually has a 
fatal termination ; it appeals to the earnest side of our nature, and moves 
our deepest feelings. Comedy consists in a representation of light and 
amusing incidents ; it exhibits the foibles of individuals, the manners 
of society, and the humorous accidents of life. The laws of the drama 
are substantially the same for both tragedy and comedy. There must 
be unity in the dramatic action. This requires that the separate inci- 
dents contribute in some way to the development of the plot and to the 
final result or denoiieineiit . A collection of disconnected scenes, no 
matter how interesting in themselves, would not make a drama. 

In addition to unity of action, which is obviously the indispensable 
law of the drama, two other unities have been prescribed from a very 
early day. The one is unity of time, which requires that the action fall 
within the limits of a single day ; the other is unity of place, which re- 
quires that the action occur in the same locality. While evidently arti- 
ficial and dispensable, these latter unities conduce to clear and concise 
treatment. Among the Greeks and Romans the three unities, as they 
are called, were strictly observed ; they have been followed also by the 
French drama ; but the English stage, breaking away in the days of 
Elizabeth from every artificial restriction, recognizes unity of action 
alone. 



152 



ENGLISH LITERATURE, 



The action of the drama should exhibit movement or progress, in 
which several stages may be clearly marked. The introduciioii ac- 
quaints us, more or less fully, with the subject 'to be treated. It usually 
brings before us some of the leading characters, and shows us the cir- 
cumstances in which they are placed. After the introduction follows 
\^\^ growth or developjnent of the action toward the climax. From the 
days of Aristotle, this part of the drama has been called " the tying of 
the knot," and it needs to be managed with great care. If the develop- 
ment is too slow, the interest lags ; if too rapid, the climax appears tame. 

The interest of a drama depends in large measure upon the success- 
ful arrangement of the climax^ or the point in wliich the opposing forces 
immediately confront each other. In our best dramas it usually occurs 
near the middle of the piece. From this point the action proceeds to 
the close or denouement. The knot is untied ; the complications in 
which the leading characters have become involved are either happily 
removed, or lead to an inevitable catastrophe. Avoiding every digres- 
sion, the action should go forward rapidly, in order not to weary the 
patience and dissipate the interest of the spectator. The dmoue?nefit 
should not be dependent upon some foreign element introduced at the 
last moment, but should spring naturally from the antecedent action. 

In addition to the five principal parts just indicated — introduction, 
rise or tying of the knot, climax, fall or untying of the knot, and de- 
iioiie))ient — there are three other elements or factors that need to be 
distinguished. The first is the cause or exciting impulse of the dra- 
matic action, and naturally stands between the introduction and the rise 
or tying of the knot. The second is the cause or tragic impulse of the 
counteraction, and stands between the climax and the fall or untying 
of the knot. The third is the cause or impulse that holds the action in 
check for a moment before reaching its final issue, and stands between 
the fall and the denouejuent. The structure and eight component parts 
of a complete drama may be represented in a diagram as follows : — 




A ~ Introduction. 

B — Rise or tying of knot. 

C = Climax. 

D — Fall or untying of knot. 

£ = Denouement. 

a — Cause or exciting impulse. 

b = Tragic impulse. 

c — Impulse of last suspense. 



CIVIL WAR OR PURITAN PERIOD. 



PRINCIPAL WRITERS. 

Prose. — Jeremy Taylor (1613-1667). Theologian and preacher. 
Author of '' Liberty of Prophesying '^ (1647), " Holy Living and Dying " 
(1651), etc. 

Edward Hyde, Earl of Clarendon (1608-1674). Statesman and 
author of " The History of the Rebellion *' (1702). 

Richard Baxter (161 5-1 691). Theologian and preacher. Author 
of "The Saints' Everlasting Rest" (1649), '-A Call to the Uncon- 
verted" (1657), "The Reformed Pastor," and a hundred and fifty 
other works. 

Izaak Walton (1593-1683). Author of "The Complete Angler," 
and several excellent biographies, including that of Hooker. 

Sir Thomas Browne (1605-1682). Author of " Religio Medici" 
(1643), "Vulgar Errors "(1646), and "Urn Burial" (1658). 

Poetry. — Edmund Waller (1605-1687). One of the principal 
metaphysical or artificial poets. 

Abraham Cowley (1618-1667). The most popular poet of his time. 
Author of " The Mistress," a collection of love verses, " Davideis," an 
epic on David, " The Late Civil War," etc. 

Francis Quarles (1592-1644). Author of "Divine Emblems" (1635), 
moral and religious poems, very popular in his day. " Milton was forced 
to wait," said Walpole, "till the world had done admiring Quarles." 

George Herbert (1593-1632). Anglican clergyman, who wrote 
"The Temple" (1633), a collection of ecclesiastical poems, some of 
which are still held in favor. 

Robert Herrick (1591-1674). Anglican clergyman, who wrote 
Anacreontic poems hardly in keeping with his profession, 

GREAT REPRESENTATIVE WRITERS. 

John Milton. John Bunyan. 

153 



IV. 

CIVIL WAR OR PURITAN PERIOD. 

(1625-1660.) 

Puritan ascendency — Civil and religious conflicts — Policy of Charles I. 

— Petition of Right — Bad advisers of king — House of Commons — 
Independents — Voluntary exiles — Civil War — The commonwealth 

— Puritanism unfavorable to literature — Decay of drama — Jeremy 
Taylor — Earl of Clarendon — Baxter — Izaak Walton — " Meta- 
physical Poets" — Johnson's criticism — Edmund Waller — Abra- 
ham Cowley — John Milton — John Bunyan. 

Though short, this period is worthy of careful study. 
In a brief space of time, the dominant spirit of England 
was completely changed. The Puritan element gained the 
ascendency and stamped its character on the representa- 
tive literature of the time. The religious element of life 
came into greater prominence ; thought was turned from 
this world to the world to come, and in place of the com- 
mon interests of humanity literature was largely occupied 
with religious truth. This difference, as compared with 
the preceding era, is clearly reflected in the great repre- 
sentative writers. Spenser, Bacon, and Shakespeare reflect 
large and secular phases of the spacious times of Elizabeth ; 
Milton and Bunyan, in their greatest works, set forth the 
theological beliefs and religious experience of Christendom. 

This period is characterized by a great civil and religious 
conflict. The antagonistic elements that had long existed 
in England were brought into armed conflict for suprem- 

155 



156 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

acy. It was a time of unrest, controversy, persecution, 
and civil war — a condition of things highly unfavorable 
to literature. But for two great writers, who with vast 
genius voiced the deeper truths and aspirations of Puritan 
England, it would be regarded as a period of literary 
decadence, not unlike that following the age of Chaucer. 
As it is, the largeness, variety, and freedom of the First 
Creative Period are obviously lacking. 

Charles I. ascended the throne in 1625 and moulded 
his policy according to high notions of the divine right of 
kings. He sought to establish an absolute monarchy. 
He assumed a haughty tone in addressing the Commons, 
telling them to " remember that parliaments were alto- 
gether in his power for their calling, sitting, or dissolution, 
and that, therefore, as he should find the fruits of them 
good or evil, they were to be, or not to be." 

Two Parliaments were convened in rapid succession, 
but showed themselves unyielding to the royal will. When 
the king demanded supplies, the Commons clamored for 
redress of grievances. In each case the king dissolved 
Parliament and proceeded to levy taxes in defiance of 
law. Resistance to the royal demands led to immediate 
imprisonment ; and in order to exercise his tyranny the 
better, he billeted soldiers among the people, and in some 
places established martial law. 

A third Parliament was called in 1629. Finding it still 
more determined in resisting his arbitrary and tyrannical 
rule, the king resolved upon a change of tactics. After 
many attempted evasions, he was at last brought to 
ratify the Petition of Right, the second great charter of 
English liberty, which bound him not to levy taxes 



CIVIL WAR OR PURITAN PERIOD. 157 

without the consent of •Parliament, not to imprison any 
person except by due legal process, and not to govern by 
martial law. 

The rejoicing of the Commons over this victory was of 
short duration. The king was by nature insincere and 
false, and, on principle, did not feel himself bound to keep 
faith with the people. After collecting the supplies that 
had been granted him, he violated the solemn pledge of 
the Petition of Right, and dissolved Parliament with every 
mark of royal displeasure. For the following eleven years 
no Parliament was called together, and the king ruled as 
a despot. 

Throughout the whole course of his usurpation the king 
was surrounded by bad advisers. Among them was the 
Duke of Buckingham, whom the Commons considered 
** the grievance of grievances " ; Laud, Archbishop of 
Canterbury, who hated the Puritans more than he hated 
the Catholics ; and Thomas Wentworth, Earl Strafford, 
who had been won from the side of Parliament by bribes 
and honors, and to whom Mr. Pym suggestively remarked, 
" You have left us, but we will never leave you while your 
head is upon your shoulders." In natural sympathy with 
the king were the nobility of the realm and the prelates of 
the Established Church. With the supremacy of the 
crown, the position of the nobility would be guaranteed 
against republican tendencies. Since Charles I. was a 
zealous Episcopalian, the bishops had everything to gain 
from his absolutism. They warmly defended the divine 
right of kings. Here, then, we find two influential classes 
which were bound to the king by common sympathies and 
common interests. They were called Royalists. 



158 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

The opposition, as we have seen, centred in the House 
of Commons, who represented the great middle class of 
England. They stood for constitutional government. 
For the most part they were Independents in religion and 
looked upon the usages and episcopal organization of the 
Anglican Church as savoring of Romanism. They made 
the individual congregation the source of authority, and, 
rejecting all human traditions, appealed to the Scriptures 
alone as the standard of faith and practice. Their form of 
worship was simple. 

In emancipating men from the arbitrary rule of an ex- 
ternal authority in religion, their principles were favorable 
to human dignity and freedom. Though persecuted to a 
greater or less degree during the reigns of Elizabeth and 
James I., the Independents had increased. Their trials 
had made them an earnest and determined body. In con- 
trast with what they regarded the formalism and worldli- 
ness of the Established Church, many of them had gone 
to the opposite extreme of ascetic rigor. They denounced 
every kind of amusement, excluded music and art from the 
churches, acquired a stern solemnity of countenance, and 
affected a Scriptural style of speech. 

To escape the annoyances and persecutions to which 
they were exposed in England, thousands had voluntarily 
exiled themselves in Holland, or braved the trials and dan- 
gers of the New World. It will be readily understood that 
men of this character — men of deep conviction, of high 
conceptions of individual liberty, and of fearless courage 
— could not be friendly to royal despotism. When placed 
in power in the House of Commons, they were stubborn 
and unyielding in their defence of constitutional liberty. 



CIVIL WAR OR PURITAN PERIOD. 1 59 

They could not be deceived by promises nor terrified by 
threats. Thus constitutional government in the Commons 
was arrayed against despotism in the king. 

At last the resources of peace were exhausted, and in 
1642 an appeal was made to arms. It is not necessary to 
follow the course of the Civil War. The gay Cavaliers 
about the king were no match for the serious Puritans. 
" I raised such men as had the fear of God before them," 
said Cromwell, ''and made some conscience of what they 
did, and from that day forward, I must say to you, they 
were never beaten, and whenever they engaged against 
the enemy, they beat continually." 

In 1649 Charles I. was brought to the block. England 
became a commonwealth, and with Cromwell as Lord Pro- 
tector occupied a commanding position among European 
nations. The Protector was everywhere feared. He sub- 
jugated Ireland ; from Spain he demanded the right of 
free trade with the West Indies ; he suppressed the Bar- 
bary pirates of the Mediterranean ; he forced the pope 
and Catholic rulers to cease their persecutions of Protes- 
tants. In treating with foreign sovereigns, he insisted on 
receiving the formal honors paid to the proudest monarchs 
of Europe. He returned two letters to Louis XIV. of 
France because they were not, as he thought, properly 
addressed. ''What," exclaimed the French king to Cardi- 
nal Mazarin, " must I call this base fellow ' Our dear 
Brother Oliver'.?" "Aye," replied the crafty minister, 
" or your father, if it will gain your ends ; or you will have 
him at the gates of Paris ! " 

However conducive to the political grandeur of England, 
the triumph of Puritanism was not favorable to the cause 



l6o ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

of letters. In the austere atmosphere of Puritanic piety 
there is little encouragement for art and literature. 

The aesthetic sentiment is suppressed by ascetic views of 
life. The literary impulse finds expression only in devo- 
tional manuals, unadorned history, or severely logical the- 
ology. " The idea of the beautiful is wanting," says Taine, 
" and what is literature without it t The natural expression 
of the heart's emotions is proscribed, and what is a litera- 
ture without it } They abolished as impious the free stage 
and the rich poesy which the Renaissance had brought 
them. They rejected as profane the ornate style and the 
ample eloquence which had been established around them 
by the imitation of antiquity and of Italy." 

The decline of the drama became inevitable. Puritanism 
set itself not only against the theatre, but also against every 
other form of worldly amusement. " The very pastimes of 
the world," says Green, "had to conform themselves to the 
law of God. There were no more races, no more bull-bait- 
ings, no more cock-fighting, no more dances under the May- 
pole. Christmas had to pass without its junketings, or 
mummers, or mince-pies." Prynne, a distinguished Puri- 
tan lawyer, denounced players as the ministers of Satan, 
and theatres as the Devil's chapels. In the presence of 
this hostile spirit, the splendid Elizabethan drama lan- 
guished and died. 

There are several minor writers of this period who, on 
account of works of permanent interest, deserve some 
attention. Jeremy Taylor was a distinguished clergy- 
man of the Established Church, who in 1642, ''by his 
Majesty's command," published an able treatise in de- 
fence of the " Episcopacy." His " Liberty of Prophesy- 



CIVIL WAR OR PURITAN PERIOD. l6l 

ing" was a plea for tolerance, and pointed out "the 
unre^onableness of prescribing to other men's faith, and 
the iniquity of persecuting differing opinion." In 1650 
appeared his '' Holy Living," and the year following 
his " Holy Dying," the two together making a devo- 
tional volume of great excellence. Throughout the 
conflicts of this period he was a zealous Royalist. 

Edward Hyde, Earl of Clarendon, ''by the express 
command of Charles I.," wrote a '' History of the Re- 
bellion." He wrote as an apologist of the RoyaHst 
party ; but in spite of its partisan spirit, the " History 
of the Rebellion" is a work of permanent value. The 
author was a man of ability and a prominent actor in 
the events he describes. He takes us behind the scenes, 
exhibiting the hidden springs of events. He strips his 
contemporaries of the prestige of birth and place, and 
portrays them as they appeared in the intimacy of per- 
sonal intercourse. And with all this, there are agree- 
able touches of humor, many sage observations, and a 
courtly dignity of manner. 

Richard Baxter, first an Anglican and afterward a 
Nonconformist minister, was an assiduous student, and 
wrote no fewer than one hundred and fifty works. 
Boswell once asked the great Dr. Johnson which of 
Baxter's works he recommended to be read. " Read any 
of them," shouted the old Churchman, "they are all 
good." This statement is rather strong; but two of 
Baxter's works, his "Saints' Everlasting Rest" and "The 
Reformed Pastor," have become religious classics, though 
less read now than formerly. In 1875 a statue was erected 
by Churchmen and Nonconformists, as the inscription 

M 



1 62 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

says, to Baxter at Kidderminster — the scene of his labors 
for nineteen years. On that occasion Dean Stanley 
delivered an address, in which he classed the great 
Nonconformist preacher among the men, not of words 
alone like Milton, nor of deeds alone like Cromwell, but 
of words and deeds together. 

One of the most pleasing literary figures of this period 
is Izaak Walton. After accumulating a small fortune 
as a linen-draper, he retired from business in 1543, and 
became, as has been said, pontijix piscatoriim. For forty 
years he swayed his fishing-rod as a sceptre over a 
circle of congenial and admiring friends. His '* Com- 
plete Angler, or the Contemplative Man's Recreation," 
published in 1653, is a delightful book, which has 
passed through many editions both in England and this 
country. 

With the exception of Milton, this period produced no 
great poet. The large, creative spirit of the preceding 
era, which reflected the grandeur and power of the Eng- 
lish people, was succeeded by a narrow, artificial spirit, 
which devoted its energies to the turning of small com- 
pliments and the tracing of remote resemblances. Since 
the time of Dr. Johnson, it has been customary to desig- 
nate these writers, among whom we may mention Waller, 
Cowley, Quarles, Herrick, Suckling, and Carew, as meta- 
physical poets. 

The term artificial or fantastic would perhaps be more 
accurately descriptive of their character. They were men 
of learning, but took too much pains to show it. They 
wrote not from the emotions of the heart, but from the 
deliberate choice of the will ; and hence they succeeded 



1 



J 



CIVIL WAR OR PURITAN PERIOD, 1 63 

not in giving voice to nature, but only in pleasing a false 
and artificial taste. They abound in far fetched and vio- 
lent figures ; and though we may be surprised at their 
ingenuity in discovering remote resemblances, we smile at 
the incongruous result. Thus Carew sings : — 

" Ask me no more, whither do stray 
The golden atoms of the day ; 
For in pure love, heaven did prepare 
Those powders to enrich your hair. 

"Ask me no more, whither doth haste 
The nightingale, when May is past ; 
For in your sweet dividing throat 
She winters, and keeps warm her note. 

"Ask me no more, where those stars light, 
That downwards fall in dead of night ; 
For in your eyes they sit, and there 
Fixed become, as in their sphere." 

It is not in such laborious conceits that nature finds a 
voice. Speaking of these poets, Dr. Johnson says : '* Their 
attempts were always analytic ; they broke every image 
into fragments ; and could no more represent, by their 
slender conceits and labored particularities, the prospects 
of nature, or the 'Scenes of life, than he who dissects the 
sunbeam with a prism can exhibit the wide effulgence of 
a summer noon. What they wanted, however, of the 
sublime, they endeavored to supply by hyperbole; their 
amplification had no limits ; they left not only reason but 
fancy behind them; and produced combinations of con- 
fused magnificence that not only could not be credited, 
but could not be imagined." 



164 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

Yet a happy trifle was now and then hit upon. At rare 
intervals nature seems to have broken through the casing 
of artificiaUty. Francis Quarles gives forcible poetic ex- 
pansion to Job's prayer, " Oh that thou wouldest hide me 
in the grave, that thou wouldest keep me secret, until thy 
wrath be past " : — 

" Ah, whither shall I fly ? What path untrod 
Shall I seek out to escape the flaming rod 
Of my off'ended, of my angry God? " 

There is a light, careless spontaneity about the little 
song of Herrick's beginning : — 

'^ Gather the rose-buds while ye may, 
Old Time is still a flying ; 
And this same flower that smiles to-day 
To-morrow will be dying/' 

The two leading representatives of the metaphysical 
or artificial school were Edmund Waller and Abraham 
Cowley. The former was an orator as well as poet, and 
served many times in Parliament. He delighted the 
House with his unfailing wit ; but if Bishop Burnet is 
right, " He was only concerned to say that which should 
make him applauded; he never laid the business of the 
House to heart, being a vain and empty, though a witty, 
man." 

Waller lived on terms of famiUar intercourse with the 
Protector, and celebrated him in a " Panegyric," which 
ranks among the best of his longer poems : — 

" While with a strong and yet a gentle hand, 
You bridle faction and our hearts command, 
Protect us from ourselves, and from the foe. 
Make us unite, and make us conquer too." 



CIVIL WAR OR PURITAN PERIOD. 1 65 

At the restoration of Charles II. he showed himself 
a pliant courtier, and indited some verses to the king 
"Upon his Majesty's Happy Return." He was received 
with favor at court. The king called the poet's atten- 
tion to the fact that the lines addressed to himself were 
inferior to those addressed to Cromwell. *' Ah, Sire," 
replied the quick-witted author, " poets succeed better in 
fiction than in truth." 

Though he wrote serious poems, especially in his old 
age, he was happiest in the lighter vein. He did not 
think deeply on great subjects, but expended his efforts 
in maintaining a superficial elegance. Among his songs 
there is one sweeter than all the rest, beginning : — 

"Go, lovely rose ! 
Tell her that wastes her time and me, 

That now she knows 
When I resemble her to thee, 
How sweet and fair she seems to be." 

Contemporary criticism is not always just. During the 
lifetime of the two poets the fame of CowFey entirely 
eclipsed that of Milton. Posterity has reversed this 
estimate ; and we may now ask with Pope : — 

"Who now reads Cowley? If he pleases yet, «• 

His moral pleases, not his pointed wit ; 
Forgot his epic, nay, Pindaric art." 

But the neglect into which he has fallen seems not 
wholly deserved. He was the most popular poet of his 
day ; and this popularity may be taken as indicative of 
at least some degree of merit. While speaking of the 
general neglect of Cowley's works. Pope adds : — 
" But still I love the language of his heart." 



1 66 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

Cowper said that he " studied, prized, and wished that 
he had known ingenious Cowley." And Charles Lamb 
confesses that Cowley was very dear, though now out of 
•fashion." His somewhat voluminous poems contain many 
passages that are well worth perusal. The " Davideis " 
is an epic poem on the troubles of David. The gem of 
the poem is a lyric, which the enamoured David sings as 
a serenade beneath the window of Michal, the daughter of 

Saul : — 

" Awake, awake, my lyre ! 

And tell thy silent masters humble tale, 

In sounds that may prevail ; 
Sounds that gentle thoughts inspire, 

Though so exalted she, 

And I so lowly be. 
Tell her such different notes make all thy harmony." 

After his death in 1667 he was buried with great pomp 

in Westminster Abbey, where he lies between Spenser and 

Chaucer. Though the king had done little for the poet, 

he was not ignorant of the latter's worth ; and when the 

news of his death reached the court, his Majesty declared 

that " Cowley had not left a better man behind him in 

England." 
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JOHN MILTON, 1 6/ 



JOHN MILTON. 

In the period under consideration, Milton stands out in 
almost solitary grandeur. Intimately associated with the 
political and religious movements of his time, and identi- 
fied in principle and in life with the Puritan party, he still 
rises grandly above the narrowness of his age. In one 
work at least he rivals the great achievements of the age 
of Elizabeth. He deserves to be recognized as the sub- 
»limest poet of all times. The far-fetched conceit of Dry- 
den, whose genuine appreciation of Milton at a time when 
the Puritan poet was not in fashion is much to his credit, 
hardly surpasses the truth : — 

" Three poets, in three distant ages born, 
Greece, Italy, and England did adorn. 
The first in loftiness of thought surpassed ; 
The next in majesty ; in both the last. 
The force of nature could no further go : 
To make a third, she joined the other two." 

John Milton was born in London, Dec. 9, 1608. His 
father, a man of the highest integrity, had been disin- 
herited for espousing the Protestant cause ; but, taking 
up the profession of a scrivener, he acquired the means of 
giving his son a liberal education. His mother, a woman 
of most virtuous character, was especially distinguished 
for her neighborhood charities. The private tutor of 
Milton was Thomas Young, a Puritan minister, who was 



1 68 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

afterward forced to leave the kingdom on account of his 
religious opinions. Milton showed extraordinary aptness 
in learning; and when in 1624 he was sent to Cambridge, 
he was master of several languages and had read exten- 
sively in philosophy and literature. He remained at the 
university seven years and took the usual degrees. 

The education of his time did not, however, meet with 
his approval, and in several of his works he has criticised 
the subjects and methods of study with astonishing inde- 
pendence and wisdom. His educational writings deserv- 
edly rank him as one of the notable educational reformers 
of modern times. *' And for the usual method of teaching 
arts," he says, " I deem it to be an old error of universities, 
not yet well recovered from the scholastic grossness of 
barbarous ages, that, instead of beginning with arts most 
easy (and those be such as are most obvious to the senses), 
they present their young, unmatriculated novices at first 
coming with the most intellective abstractions of logic and 
metaphysics ; so that they, having but newly left those 
grammatic flats and shallows, where they stuck unreason- 
ably long to learn a few words with lamentable construc- 
tion, and now on the sudden transported under another 
climate, to be tossed and turmoiled with their unballasted 
wits in fathomless and unquiet depths of controversy, do for 
the most part grow into hatred and contempt of learning, 
mocked and deluded all this while with, ragged notions and 
babblements, while they expected delightful and worthy 
knowledge." 

Milton was designed by his parents for the church. 
But as he approached maturity, he perceived that his re- 
ligious convictions and ecclesiastical independence would 



JOHN MILTON, 1 69 

not allow him to enter the Established Church. We here 
see, perhaps, the effects of his Puritan training. Speaking 
of this matter he says : " Coming to some maturity of years 
and perceiving what tyranny had invaded the church, that 
he who would take orders must subscribe slave, and take 
an oath withal, which unless he took with a conscience 
that he would relish, he must either perjure or split his 
faith, I thought better to prefer a blameless silence before 
the sacred office of speaking, bought and begun with ser- 
vitude and forswearing." 

In 1632 he left the university, amidst the regrets of the 
fellows of his college, and retired to his father's house at 
Horton in Buckinghamshire. Here he spent five years in 
laborious study, in the course of which he perused all the 
Greek and Latin writers of the classic period. He also 
studied ItaHan and was accustomed, as he tells us, *'to 
feast with avidity and delight on Dante and Petrarch." 
To use his own expression, he was letting his wings grow. 
In a letter to a friend he gives us some interesting par- 
ticulars in regard to his studies and habits of life. " You 
well know," he says, "that I am naturally slow in writing 
and averse to write. It is also in my favor that your 
method of study is such as to admit of frequent interrup- 
tions, in which you visit your friends, write letters, or go 
abroad ; but it is my way to suffer no impediment, no 
love of ease, no avocation whatever, to chill the ardor, 
to break the continuity, or divert the completion of my 
literary pursuits." 

It was during this period of studious retirement that 
he produced several of his choicest poems, among which 
are ''Comus," ''L' Allegro," and "II Penseroso." "Comus" 



I/O ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

is the most perfect mask in any language. But " in none 
of the works of Milton," says Macaulay, '* is his peculiar 
manner more happily displayed than in ' Allegro ' and the 
' Penseroso.' It is impossible to conceive that the mech- 
anism of language can be brought to a more exquisite 
degree of perfection. These poems differ from others 
as attar of roses differs from ordinary rose water, the close- 
packed essence from the thin diluted mixture. They are 
indeed not so much poems as collections of hints, from 
each of which the reader is to make a poem for himself. 
Every epithet is a text for a stanza." 

At the time these two poems were written, they stood 
as the high-water mark of English poetry. In their sphere 
they have never been excelled. In spite of little inaccu- 
racies of description (for Milton was too much in love with 
books to be a close observer of nature), we find nowhere 
else such an exquisite delineation of country life and coun- 
try scenes. These idyls are the more remarkable because 
their light, joyous spirit stands in strong contrast with the 
elevation, dignity, and austerity of his other poems. 

Take, for example, this picture from a description of 
morning scenes : — 

" While the cock, with lively din, 
Scatters the rear of darkness thin ; 
And to the stack, or the barn door, 
Stoutly struts his dames before."" 

Or this picture from a description of evening : — - , 

" Oft, on a plat of rising ground, 
I hear the far-off curfew sound 
Over some wide-watered shore, 
Swinging slow with sullen roar." 



JOHN MILTON. I /I 

"Lycidas," published in 1637, is a pastoral elegy, com- 
memorating the death of Edward King, a young college 
friend, who was drowned in the Irish Sea. It is one of 
the noblest elegies in our language, full of subdued, classic 
beauty. It contains a celebrated passage denouncing the 
mercenary character of the Anglican prelates. The pass- 
ing of Lycidas from death to celestial life is likened to the 
course of the sun : — 

" So sinks the day star in the ocean-bed, 
And yet anon repairs his drooping head, 
And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore 
Flames in the forehead of the morning sky." 

At length Milton began to tire of his country life and 
to long for the pleasures and benefits of travel. In 1638 
he left England for a tour on the Continent. At Paris 
he met Grotius, one of the most learned men of his age, 
who resided at the French capital as ambassador from 
the Queen of Sweden. After a few days he went to 
Italy and visited all the principal cities. He was every- 
where cordially received by men of learning, who were 
not slow to recognize his genius. In his travels he pre- 
served an admirable and courageous independence. Even 
under the shadow of St. Peter's, he made no effort to 
conceal his religious opinions. '* It was a rule," he says, 
"which I laid down to myself in those places, never to 
be the first to begin any conversation on religion ; but if 
any question were put to me concerning my faith, to 
declare it without any reserve or fear. . . . For about 
the space of two months I again openly defended, as 
I had done before, the reformed religion in the very 
metropolis of Popery." 



1/2 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

The Italians, who were frugal in their praise of men 
from beyond the Alps, received some of Milton's pro- 
ductions with marks of high appreciation. This had the 
effect to confirm his opinion of his own power and to 
stimulate his hope of achieving something worthy of 
remembrance. ** I began thus to assent both to them, 
and divers of my friends at home," he tells us in an 
interesting passage, ** and not less to an inward prompt- 
ing, which now grew daily upon me, that, by labor and 
intense study (which I take to be my portion in this 
life), I might perhaps leave something so written to 
after-times as they should not willingly let die." He 
was about to extend his travels into Sicily and Greece 
when the news of the civil commotions in England caused 
him to change his purpose; ''for I thought it base," he 
says, ** to be travelling for amusement abroad, while my 
fellow-citizens were fighting for liberty at home." 

Not being called to serve the state in any official 
capacity on his arrival in London, he rented a spacious 
house in which he conducted a private school. He 
sought to exemplify, in some measure at least, his edu- 
cational theories. He held that languages should be 
studied for the sake of the literary treasures they con- 
tain. He accordingly laid but little stress on minute 
verbal drill and sought to acquaint his pupils with what 
was best in classic literature. A long list of Latin and 
Greek authors was read. Besides, he attached much 
importance to religious instruction ; and on Sunday he 
dictated to his pupils an outline of Protestant theology. 

But this school has called forth some unfavorable 
criticism upon its founder. Dr. Johnson, who delights 



JOHN MILTON. 1 73 

in severe reflections, calls attention to the contrast be- 
tween the lofty sentiment and small performance of the 
poet, who, ''when he reaches the scene of action, vapors 
away his patriotism in a private boarding-school." The 
animadversion is unjust. Though modestly laboring as 
a teacher, Milton's talents and learning were sincerely 
devoted to the service of his country. He has himself 
given us what ought to be a satisfactory explanation. 
'' Avoiding the labors of the camp," he says, *' in which 
any robust soldier would have surpassed me, I betook 
myself to those weapons which I could wield with most 
effect ; and I conceived that I was acting wisely when 
I thus brought my better and more valuable faculties, 
those which constituted my principal strength and con- 
sequence, to the assistance of my country and her hon- 
orable cause." 

In 1641 he published his first work in prose, "Of 
Reformation in England, and the Causes that hitherto 
Have Hindered It." It is an attack upon the bishops 
and the Established Church. The same year appeared 
two other controversial works, " Of Prelatical Episco- 
pacy," which he maintains is without warrant from apos- 
tolic times, and ''The Reason of Church Government," 
which is an argument against prelacy. With these works 
Milton threw himself into the bitter controversies of the 
age. It was a matter, not of choice, but of duty. He 
felt called to add the weight of his learning and elo- 
quence to the side of the Puritans, who were perhaps 
inferior to their prelatical opponents in scholarship. He 
tells us himself that he " was not disposed to this man- 
ner of writing, wherein knowing myself inferior to my- 



1/4 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

self, led by the genial power of nature to ^another task, 
I have the use, as I may account it, but of my left hand." 

In 1643, in his thirty-fifth year, Milton married Mary 
Powell, daughter of a justice of the peace in Oxfordshire. 
She was of Royalist family and had been brought up in 
the leisure and gayety of affluence. It is not strange, 
therefore, that she found the meagre fare and studious 
habits of her husband's home distasteful. After a month 
in this scholastic abode, she made a visit to her father's 
home, from which she refused to return. Her husband's 
letters were left unanswered, and his messenger was dis- 
missed with contempt. Milton felt this breach of duty on 
her part very keenly, and resolved to repudiate his wife 
on the ground of disobedience and desertion. 

In support of his course, he published in 1644 a treatise 
entitled, '* The Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce," and 
the year following his ''Tetrachordon, or Expositions on the 
Four Chief Places of Scripture which treat of Marriage." 
He maintains '* that indisposition, unfitness, or contrariety 
of mind, arising from a cause in nature unchangeable, hin- 
dering, and likely to hinder the main benefits of conjugal 
society, which are solace and peace," is a justifiable ground 
of divorce. As might be expected, he argued with great 
skill; but he was smarting at the time under a sense of 
personal humiliation and wrong, and it may be doubted 
whether he himself afterward approved of his extreme 
position. His views were bitterly assailed. 

At last a reconciliation between him and his wife was 
effected. When one day she suddenly appeared before 
him, and on her knees begged his forgiveness, his gener- 
ous impulses were deeply moved. He received her into his 



JOHN MILTON. 1 75 

home again, and ever afterward treated her with affection ; 
and when her family, because of their RoyaUst sympathies, 
fell into distress, he generously extended his protection to 
her father and brothers. The incidents of this recon- 
ciliation are supposed to have given rise to a beautiful 
passage in " Paradise Lost," where Eve is described as 
humbly falling in tears and disordered tresses at the feet 
of Adam, and suing for pardon and peace. And then — 

"She ended, weeping; and her lowly plight, 
Immovable till peace obtained from fault 
Acknowledged and deplored, in Adam wrought 
Commiseration ; soon his heart relented 
Towards her, his life so late, and sole delight. 
Now at his feet submissive in distress ; 
Creature so fair his reconcilement seeking. 
His counsel, whom she had displeased, his aid." 

This same year, 1644, saw the publication of two other 
treatises that will long survive. The one is the " Are- 
opagitica, or Speech for the Liberty of Unlicensed Print- 
ing," the other is his "Tractate on Education." In the 
latter he has set forth in brief compass his educational 
views and made many suggestions for the improvement 
of the current system. It has been pronounced Utopian 
in character, but it is to be noted that many educational 
reforms of recent years have been in the line indicated by 
Milton. 

His definition of education, which has been often quoted, 
presents a beautiful ideal. " I call a complete and gener- 
ous education," he says, "that which fits a man to perform 
justly, skilfully, and magnanimously all the offices, both 
private and public, of peace and war." But he does not 



^1 



176 .ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

contemplate practical efficiency in the secular duties of 
life as the sole end of education. Its highest aim is char- 
acter. "The end of learning is," he says, "to repair the 
ruins of our first parents by regaining to know God aright, 
and out of that knowledge to love him, to imitate him, to 
be like him, as we may the nearest by possessing our souls 
of true virtue, which being united to the heavenly grace of 
faith makes up the highest perfection." 

Languages are to be studied in order to learn the useful 
things embodied in the literatures of those peoples that 
have made the highest attainments in wisdom. "And 
though a linguist should pride himself to have all the 
tongues that Babel cleft the world into, yet if he have not 
studied the solid things in them, as well as the words and 
lexicons, he were nothing so much to be esteemed a learned 
man as any yeoman or tradesman competently wise^in his 
mother dialect only." 

He held that the subjects studied and the tasks imposed 
should be wisely adapted to the learner's age and prog- 
ress ; and he strongly denounces the " preposterous exac- 
tion " which forces "the empty wits of children to compose 
themes, verses, and orations, which are the acts of ripest 
judgment and the final work of a head filled by long read- 
ing and observing with elegant maxims and copious inven- 
tion." The outline of studies he proposes includes nearly 
the whole circuit of learning — a curriculum of heroic 
mould. Milton himself seems to have been conscious of 
the vastness of his plan; and he concludes the "Tractate" 
with the remark, " That this is not a bow for every man to 
shoot in that counts himself a teacher, but will require 
sinews almost equal to those which Homer gave Ulysses." 



JOHN MILTON. 1 7/ 

Milton continued to live in private, giving his life to 
instructing his pupils and to discussing questions relating 
to the public weal. In 1649, two weeks after the execu- 
tion of Charles I., he published his " Tenure of Kings and 
Magistrates," in which he undertook to prove that it is 
lawful, and has been held so in all ages, for any who have 
the power, to call to account a tyrant or wicked king, and, 
after due conviction, to depose and put him to death. 
This treatise marked a turning-point in his career. The 
Council of State of the new commonwealth, pleased with 
his courage and republicanism, called him to the secre- 
taryship for foreign tongues. It became his duty to pre- 
pare the Latin letters which were addressed by the 
Council to foreign princes. Later he served as Crom- 
well's Latin Secretary — an office he held throughout the 
Protectorate. 

His literary and controversial activity, however, did not 
cease in his official life. His " Eikonoklastes," or Image- 
breaker, was written in 1649, to counteract the influence of 
" Eikon Basilike," or Royal Image, a book that had an 
immense circulation and tended to create a reaction in 
public sentiment in favor of the monarchy. A still more 
important work was his Latin " Pro Populo Anglicano 
Defensio," which was written in reply to a treatise by 
Salmasius, a scholar of Leyden, in which an effort was 
made to vindicate the memory of Charles I. and to bring 
reproach upon the commonwealth. In spite of failing 
vision and the warning of his physicians, Milton threw 
himself with great ardor into his task, and in 165 1 pub- 
lished his " Defensio," one of the most masterly contro- 
versial works ever written. He practically annihilated his 



178 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

opponent. The commonwealth, it was said, owed its 
standing in Europe to Cromwell's battles and Milton's 
books. 

During the Protectorate Milton's life was uneventful. 
He bore his blindness, which had now become total, with 
heroic fortitude, upheld by a beautiful faith, to which he 
gave expression in a sonnet " On his Blindness " : — 

" God doth not need 
Either man's work, or his own gifts ; who best 
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best ; his state 
Is kingly : thousands at his bidding speed, 
And post o^'er land and ocean without rest ; 
They also serve who only stand and wait." 

At the Restoration, though specially named for punish- 
ment, he somehow escaped the scaffold. His life, how- 
ever, was for some years one of solitude and dejection. 
His own feelings are put into the mouth of his Samson : — 

" Now blind, disheartened, shamed, dishonored, quelled, 
To what can I be useful? Wherein serve 
My nation, and the work from heaven imposed.'' 
But to sit idle on the household hearth, 
A burdensome drone, to visitants a gaze, 
Or pitied object." 

To add to his distress, his three daughters, whose rear- 
ing had been somewhat neglected, failed to prove a com- 
fort to their father in his sore afflictions. They treated 
him with disrespect, sold his books by stealth, and rebelled 
against the drudgery of reading to him. Under these 
circumstances it is hardly to be wondered at that he 
allowed himself to be persuaded (his second wife having 



JOHN MILTON. 1/9 

died eight years before) into contracting a third marriage 
— a union that greatly added to the comfort and happi- 
ness of his last years. 

But in all this period of trial, Milton had the solace of a 
noble task. He was slowly elaborating his " Paradise 
Lost," in which he realized the dream of his youth. Its 
main theme is indicated in the opening lines : — 

" Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit 
Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste 
Brought death into the world, and all our woe. 
With loss of Eden, till one greater Man 
Restore us, and regain the blissful seat. 
Sing, heavenly Muse, that on the secret top 
Of Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire 
That shepherd, who first taught the chosen seed, 
In the beginning, how the heavens and earth 
Rose out of chaos." 

But the poem must be read before its grandeur can be 
appreciated. It is one of the world's great epics ; and in 
majesty of plan and subUmity of treatment it surpasses 
them all. The Eternal Spirit, which he invokes, seems to 
have touched his Hps with hallowed fire. The splendors 
of heaven, the horrors of hell, and the beauties of Paradise 
are depicted with matchless power. The beings of the un- 
seen world — angels and demons — exercise before us their 
mighty agency ; and in the council chambers of heaven 
we hear the words of the Almighty. The poem compre- 
hends the universe, sets forth the truth of divine govern- 
ment, and exhibits life in its eternal significance — a poem 
that rises above the petty incidents of earth with monu- 
mental splendor. It met with appreciation from the start. 



l8o ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

With a clear recognition of its worth, Dryden said, '' This 
man cuts us^ all out, and the ancients too." Milton's 
modest house became a pilgrim's shrine, and men from 
every rank, not only from his native land, but also from 
abroad, came to pay him homage. 

Milton's literary activity continued to the last, and en- 
riched our literature with two other noble productions, 
"Paradise Regained" and "Samson Agonistes." The 
former may be regarded as a sequel to " Paradise Lost " ; 
the latter is the most powerful drama in our language aftdr 
the Greek model. The poet, unconsciously perhaps, iden- 
tified himself with his Samson, and gave utterance to the 
profoundest emotions which had been awakened by the 
mighty conflicts and sorrows of his own life. 

He died Nov. 8, 1674. He was a man of heroic mould. 
In his solitary grandeur only one man of his age deserves 
to be placed beside him — the great Protector, Oliver 
Cromwell. His greatness was austere. In his life he had 
no intimate and tender companionships ; and now our feel- 
ing toward him is admiration rather than love. His char- 
acter was without blemish, his aspirations pure and lofty, 
his courage undaunted, his intellectual vigor and power 
almost without parallel. But he was conscious of his 
greatness, and, finding ample resources within himself, he 
did not seek human sympathy. Wordsworth has spoken 

truly, — 

" Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart." 

Like his own " Paradise Lost," he appears, with his 
Titanic proportions and independent loneliness, as the 
most impressive figure in English literature. 




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JOHN BUNYAN. l8l 



JOHN BUNYAN. 

In scholarly culture never was a writer less fitted for 
authorship than Bunyan. He sprang from a very humble 
origin; his school training was exceedingly elementary; 
his associates were uneducated people ; his reading was 
almost exclusively confined to three or four religious books. 
Yet, in spite of this meagre outfit in literary culture, he 
wrote a book that has become a classic. It is the greatest 
allegory ever written, and in graphic power of portraiture 
it is scarcely inferior to the creations of Shakespeare. 
What is the secret of this achievement t It is to be found, 
first, in the divine gift of genius, and, second, in the ex- 
traordinary depth of his varied religious experience. He 
wrote directly from the fulness of knowledge which he had 
gained through years of spiritual conflict. 

In " Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners," we 
have Bunyan's autobiography. As the title indicates, it is 
chiefly occupied with his religious trials and triumphs. In 
comparison with the supreme interest of religion, his Puri- 
tanic spirit deems the outward circumstances of life as lit- 
tle better than vanity. He was born at Elstow, a village 
near Bedford, in 1628. His father was a mender of pots 
and kettles — a trade to which he was himself brought up. 
At school he learned to read and write ; but *' to my 
shame," he says, " I confess I did soon lose that little I 
learnt, even almost utterly." 



^ 



182 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

In childhood and youth he was singularly sensitive in 
matters of religion. Either in his home or at school the 
doctrines of Puritan theology had been impressed upon 
him. He believed himself the chief of sinners and has 
drawn a very dark picture of his youthful life. Though 
he probably exaggerated the degree of his wickedness, as 
some of his biographers have asserted, yet his particular 
statements form a grievous indictment. He had few 
equals, he tells us, " in cursing, swearing, lying, and blas- 
pheming the holy name of God. ... I was the very ring- 
leader of all the youth that kept me company, in all manner 
of vice and ungodliness." Yet, in this vicious course of 
life, he was not thoroughly hardened. His conscience was 
continually troubling him by day, and frightful visions of 
evil spirits haunted him by night. When he discovered 
wickedness in those who professed godliness, it made him 
tremble. Throughout this youthful period, in spite of his 
iterated self-reproach, we discern the workings of an ab- 
normally sensitive conscience, and of a restless, powerful 
imagination. 

In speaking of this early period of his life, he notes with 
gratitude several special providences. He was twice saved 
from drowning, and was once preserved from the bite of 
an adder. In the Civil War be joined the Parliamentary 
army, and on one occasion, as he thought, narrowly escaped 
death. '' When I was a soldier," to give his own account 
of the incident, " I, with others, was drawn out to go to 
such a place to besiege it; but when I was just ready to 
go, one of the company desired to go in my room : to which, 
when I had consented, he took my place ; and coming to 
the siege, as he stood sentinel, he was shot in the head 



JOHN BUNYAN. 1 83 

with a musket bullet and died." These he called "judg- 
ments mixed with mercy." 

He married a pious woman whose only dowry was '* The 
Plain Man's Pathway to Heaven" and "The Practice of 
Piety." This, it must be confessed, was a slim outfit for 
housekeeping ; but otherwise, he tells us, they did not have 
"so much household stuff as a dish or a spoon." They 
sometimes read together in these devotional works. " They 
did beget within me," he continues, " some desires to re- 
form my vicious life, and fall in very eagerly with the reli- 
gion of the times ; to wit, to go to church twice a day, and 
that too with the foremost ; and there very devotedly both 
say and sing, as others did, yet retaining my wicked life." 

But he soon fell into a state of despair, believing that it 
was too late for him to repent and be forgiven. He re- 
solved to go on in sin, and studied what forms of evil might 
yet be indulged in that he " might taste the sweetness of 
it." This continued for some weeks, when the severe re- 
proof of a woman, herself a "loose and ungodly wretch," 
put him to shame. From that time forward he gave up 
the ugly habit of swearing, and to his surprise (though not 
to that of decent people) he found that he "could, without 
it,' speak better, and with more pleasantness than ever 
before." He began to read the Scriptures, especially the 
historical portions, with interest ; and his effort to keep its 
commandments led to an outward reformation of his life. 
His neighbors marvelled at the change in his conduct and 
took pains, both to his face and behind his back, to com- 
mend him as an honest and godly man. 

While thus striving to live blamelessly in the eyes of 
those about him, he was still troubled. The conversation 



1 84 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

of some pious women led him to realize that there was a 
spiritual experience — a peace and joy in God — of which 
he was still ignorant. He found difficulty in understand- 
ing and exercising faith. Besides, he was greatly dis- 
tressed over the doctrine of election. He was continually 
asking himself : " How can you tell that you are elected ? 
And what if you should not be.'^ How then.^" He longed 
for conversion. " Gold ! could it have been gotten for 
gold, what would I have given for it ! Had I had a whole 
world, it had all gone ten thousand times over for this, 
that my soul might have been in a converted state." 

In his distress Bunyan sought counsel of the Rev. Mr. 
Gifford of Bedford, who performed for him the office of 
** Evangelist." He at last obtained a satisfying view of 
the love of God. "And with that," he tells us, ''my heart 
was filled full of comfort and hope, and now I could believe 
that my sins would be forgiven me ; yea, I was now so 
taken with the love and mercy of God that I remember I 
could not tell how to contain till I got home ; I thought I 
could have spoken of his love, and have told of his mercy 
to me, even to the very crows that sat upon the ploughed 
lands before me, had they been capable to have under- 
stood me." 

But his spiritual trials were by no means at an end. He 
had to fight with Apollyon ; to pass through the Valley of 
the Shadow of Death. Doubts assailed him ; temptations 
to blasphemy beset him ; he felt an almost irresistible im- 
pulse to commit the sin against the Holy Ghost; he looked 
upon himself as a second Judas. No other soul was ever 
more tormented. Yet at last he ''was loosed from his 
afflictions and irons ; his temptations fled away ; " and 



JOHN BUNYAN. 1 85 

henceforth he was able to Hve in sight of the Celestial 
City. 

He united with the Baptist congregation at Bedford. 
After a time his gifts as a speaker were discovered, and 
he was set apart as a preacher. He entered upon his 
office with great humility ; and it was only after hundreds 
had flocked to hear him, and many had turned from sin to 
righteousness, that he became firmly established in his 
vocation. He always spoke from the depths of his own 
conviction ; and because his religious experience had been 
extremely varied and profound, he spoke with unusual 
spiritual power. ~ He often felt, to use his own words, '' as 
if an angel of God had stood at his back to encourage 
him." Yet his path was not smooth. He was opposed by 
the established clergy ; but instead of returning railing for 
railing, he sought a more exquisite vengeance by convert- 
ing as many of "their carnal professors" as possible. He 
was vilely slandered ; but instead of being troubled and 
cast down, he comforted himself with the words, " Blessed 
are ye when men shall revile you, and persecute you, and 
say all manner of evil against you falsely, for my sake. 
Rejoice, and be exceeding glad, for great is your reward 
in heaven." 

The sermons of Bunyan, a number of which have been 
preserved, are in keeping with the general style of preach- 
ing then in vogue. Compared with sermons of the pres- 
ent day, they are tediously long. They are designed to be 
comprehensive in treatment ; and therefore, instead of 
leaving something to the intelligence of the hearer, they 
abound in the most obvious commonplaces. There is 
scarcely any end to the divisions and subdivisions. They 



1 86 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

are more concerned with thought than style; and instead 
of rhetorical grace, we find only simplicity and directness. 
Their remarkable effectiveness was due to the intellectual 
vigor and moving earnestness of the speaker — a fact that 
emphasizes for us the importance of the personal element 
in public discourse. 

After preaching five years with great success, he entered 
on a long period of tribulation. Charles II. had ascended 
the throne, and the Act of Uniformity, which had been 
suspended during the commonwealth, was again revived. 
The Dissenters' chapels were closed, and on Sundays the 
people were required to be present in the parish church. 
The Bedford Baptists refused to obey ; and their church 
being closed, Bunyan continued to preach to them either 
in the woods or in private houses. But the officers of the 
law were on the watch ; and it was not long till he was 
arrested on the charge of ** devilishly and perniciously ab- 
staining from coming to church to hear divine service, and 
of upholding unlawful meetings and conventicles." The 
judges were disposed to be lenient with him ; but as he 
uncompromisingly refused to promise that he would ab- 
stain from preaching, he was, in 1660, cast into Bedford 
jail, where he remained for the next twelve years. 

In this affair we see his moral earnestness. He pre- 
ferred imprisonment, banishment, or even death itself to 
a sacrifice of principle. He might have escaped had he 
chosen to do so ; but under the circumstances he felt 
that flight would have been cowardice. In the words of 
Froude, " He was the first Nonconformist who had been 
marked for arrest. If he flinched after he had been sin- 
gled out by name, the whole body of his congregation 



JOHN BUNYAN. 1 8/ 

would be discouraged." His devotion to his family ren- 
dered his imprisonment a still greater trial. *' The parting 
with my wife and poor children," he said, " hath often 
been to me, in this place, as the pulling the flesh from my 
bones ; and that not only because I am somewhat too fond 
of these mercies, but also because I should have often 
brought to my mind the many hardships, miseries, and 
wants that my poor family was likewise to meet with; 
especially my poor blind child, who lay nearer my heart 
than all I had beside." 

His treatment in the jail has been a matter of dispute. 
A seventeenth-century jail was at the best a very unde- 
sirable place of abode. At times he was closely confined ; 
but for the most part, it seems, he was allowed consid- 
erable freedom. For a brief space he was even permitted 
to visit his family. Not being able to carry on his trade 
as tinker, he learned to make tags for boot-laces as a 
means of supporting his family. 

But how little do we understand, in many cases, what is 
best for us ! The imprisonment of Bunyan developed his 
spiritual insight and resulted in his monumental allegory, 
"The Pilgrim's Progress." It was written at odd mo- 
ments during his confinement, with no other books of ref- 
erence than the Bible and Fox's " Book of Martyrs." The 
latter gave him some knowledge of history, and the former 
" is a literature in itself — the rarest and richest in all de- 
partments of thought or imagination which exists." There 
is a reference to his prison, strangely free from bitterness, 
in the opening sentence : " As I walked through the wil- 
derness of this world, I Hghted on a certain place where 
was a den, and laid me down in that place to sleep ; and 



1 88 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

as I slept I dreamed a dream." The work was not planned 
in advance, but grew under his hand, as he tells us in his 
introductory apology : — 

" When at the first I took my pen in hand 
Thus for to write, I did not understand 
That I at all should make a little book 
In such a mode ; nay, I had undertook 
To make another ; which, when almost done, 
Before I was aware, I this begun.'" 

*' The Pilgrim's Progress " describes a journey from the 
City of Destruction to the New Jerusalem ; in other words, 
it sets forth the sorrows, joys, and final triumph of a Chris- 
tian life'. It is Bunyan's own experience in allegory. His 
faith and experience were back of it ; and it stands, as 
Carlyle has remarked, the shadow of what, to its author, 
was an awful fact. Its descriptions are remarkably vivid ; 
its characters are sharply defined ; and what gives it per- 
ennial interest is its fidelity to life. Every earnest nature, 
no matter what may be the creed, there finds, more or less 
fully, its own experience. Who has not crossed the 
Slough of Despond t Who has not felt the burden of 
unworthiness, climbed the hill of Difficulty, and been shut 
up in Doubting Castle } Who has not also rested in the 
Delectable Mountains, or reached for moments, all too 
brief, the Land of Beulah } 

Some of the scenes in '' The Pilgrim's Progress " are real- 
istic pictures of Bunyan's times. The trial of Christian 
and Faithful in Vanity Fair is an unexaggerated repro- 
duction of the judicial proceedings in England during the 
reign of Charles II. It contains touches from Bunyan's 
own trial. The hard, worldly-minded characters, with 



I 



JOHN BUN VAN. 1 89 

which the book is filled, are types from contemporary life — 
men whom Bunyan had actually met. This fact gives the 
book a historic interest and value that are not generally 
understood. 

** The Pilgrim's Progress" gradually made its way into 
popularity. In the course of a dozen years after its first ap- 
pearance in 1678, it passed through many editions and was 
widely known not only on the Continent, but also in the 
English colonies of America. Since that time no other 
book, except the EngHsh Bible, has been so widely circu- 
lated. Not long after its first appearance, its authorship was 
questioned. There were some who denied that the igno- 
rant tinker could have written it. To silence these gain- 
sayers, Bunyan put forth the second part of the book, in 
which the pilgrimage of Christian's wife and children is 
described. There is doubtless comfort in the thought that 
they were not left behind ; but Bunyan had at first worked 
the vein so thoroughly that the second part is necessarily 
lacking in freshness and interest. It was published in 
1684. 

Bunyan continued to work the rich vein he had discov- 
ered. His next work was the " Holy War," which takes 
very high rank as an allegory. '' If * The Pilgrim's Prog- 
ress ' did not exist," says Macaulay, "the 'Holy War' 
would be the best allegory that ever was written." It may 
not unjustly be described as a prose " Paradise Lost " and 
" Paradise Regained " in a single work. It treats the same 
subject in very much the same way. It describes the con- 
flict between Shaddai and Diabolus for the possession of 
the metropolis of the world, the " fair and delicate town 
called Mansoul." It is sacred history — the creation of 



1 90 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

man, the fall, redemption, and the establishment of the 
kingdom of heaven — in the form of allegory. 

In the "Holy War" Bunyan turned to good account 
his experience as a soldier, and many of the scenes are 
vividly conceived. The subject, however, does not lend 
itself readily to allegorical treatment, inasmuch as it lacks 
a definite dramatic conclusion. Notwithstanding the re- 
demption of Mansoul, somehow " Diabolonians " still 
dwell within the walls and disturb the victory. No doubt 
there will sometime be a satisfactory denouement to the 
tragic conflict, but it has not yet become a reality. 

As a counterpart to Christian's pilgrimage, Bunyan has 
portrayed "The Life and Death of Mr. Badman." He 
drew, as before, upon his observation and experience. 
"Yea," he exclaims, "I think I may truly say that to the 
best of my remembrance all the things that here I dis- 
course of, I mean as to matter of fact, have been acted 
upon the stage of the world, even many times before my 
eyes." The evil habits of Mr. Badman in his youth are 
precisely those which Bunyan ascribes to himself in his 
spiritual autobiography. "The Life and Death of Mr. 
Badman " is a realistic character sketch, which leads 
through Defoe to the great school of Enghsh novels. 

Much has been written of Bunyan's style. It has been 
extravagantly lauded and contemptuously depreciated. 
Judged from an artificial literary point of view, he can 
hardly be said to have a style at all. He disdains the 
artifices of rhetoric. Deeply in earnest, he tells his story 
in a simple, direct, and often colloquial way. Yet, in its 
unadorned simplicity, it often rises to a high degree of 
beauty and force. He aimed, not at show, but effect. 



JOHN BUN VAN. I9I 

"Words easy to be understood do often hit the mark," he 
says in defence of his homely diction, '' when high and 
learned ones do only pierce the air. He also that speaks 
to the weakest, may make the learned understand him ; 
when he that striveth to be high is not only for the most 
part understood but of a sort, but also many times is 
neither understood by them nor by himself." 

Bunyan had the power of clear and vivid conception. 
Whether he describes a character, a landscape, or an 
event, it can be clearly imaged to the mind. This fact 
gives a picturesque quality to his work. His books lend 
themselves readily to illustration, and there are few 
pages in "The Pilgrim's Progress" or the "Holy War" 
that would not furnish subjects for an artist. Taken 
altogether, Macaulay's well-known commendation of Bun- 
yan's style, though it has been censured for its " charac- 
teristic slapdash extravagance," is not very far out of the 
way : " The vocabulary is the vocabulary of the common 
people. There is not an expression, if we except a few 
technical terms of theology, which would puzzle the rudest 
peasant. We have observed several pages which do not 
contain a single word of more than two syllables. Yet no 
writer has said more exactly what he meant to say. For 
magnificence, for pathos, for vehement exhortations, for 
subtle disquisition, for every purpose of the poet, the 
orator, and the divine, this homely dialect, the dialect of 
the plain workingmen, was sufficient." 

But little more remains to be said of Bunyan's life. 
He was released from prison in 1673 and at once took 
charge of the Baptist congregation at Bedford as pastor. 
His imprisonment, his writings, and his power as a 



192 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

preacher had made him famous throughout England. 
Half in jest and half in earnest, people called him Bishop 
Bunyan. Apart from his writings, his life passed un- 
eventfully in preaching and pastoral visitation. This was 
the happiest period of his life. In a measure it brought 
him compensation for his previous trials ; for he habitually 
dwelt " in his own Land of Beulah, Doubting Castle out 
of sight, and the towers and minarets of Emmanuel Land 
growing nearer and clearer as the days went on." He 
frequently preached in London ; and " if there was but 
one day's notice, the meeting-house was crowded to over- 
flowing." Sometimes he had to be lifted to the pulpit 
stairs over the heads of the congregation. But his popu- 
larity never turned his head. When a friend once compli- 
mented him on " the sweet sermon " he had just delivered, 
he replied, ''You need not remind me of that; the devil 
told me of it before I was out of the pulpit." 

While Bunyan was intensely earnest, there is an absence 
of fanaticism in his teaching. His imprisonment did not 
lead him into a spirit of bitterness against the English 
government. In spite of the harshness of his beliefs, he 
cherished a gentle and tolerant spirit. In this respect he 
was far in advance of his age. Contrary to the usual 
practice of his denomination, he advocated communion 
with other Christians. To his mind sin was the great 
heresy ; and against this, though indulgent to differences 
of creed, he was uniformly and zealously intolerant. 

The last act of his life was a labor of love. He made a 
long journey on horseback to reconcile a father who had 
become alienated from his son. He successfully accom- 
plished his mission ; but on his return, he was drenched 



JOHN BUNYAN. 1 93 

with rain. When he reached the house of a friend in 
London, he was seized by a violent fever, and in ten days 
breathed his last. This was in August, 1688. 

A contemporary who knew him well thus speaks of 
him : " He appeared in countenance to be of a stern and 
rough temper ; but in his conversation, mild and affable, 
not given to loquacity or much discourse in company, 
unless some urgent occasion required it ; observing never 
to boast of himself, or his parts, but rather seem low in 
his own eyes and submit himself to the judgment of 
others ; abhorring lying and swearing, being just in all that 
lay in his power to his word; not seeming to revenge 
injuries, loving to reconcile differences, and make friend- 
ships with all. He had a sharp, quick eye, accomplished 
with an excellent discerning of persons, being of good 
judgment and quick wit." 



FIRST CRITICAL PERIOD. 



PRINCIPAL WRITERS. 

Diarists. — John Evelyn (1620-1706). Miscellaneous writer, but 
chiefly remembered for his "Diary." 

Samuel Pepys (1633-1703). His "Diary'' covers the period 1660- 
1669, first published in 1825. 

Philosophers. — Sir Isaac Newton (i 642-1 727). Author of sev- 
eral works, the chief of which is " Principia Philosophiae Naturalis 
Mathematica" (1687). 

Robert Boyle (1627-1691). A distinguislfed member of the Royal 
Society ; " the most faithful, the most patient, the most successful dis- 
ciple who carried forward the experimental philosophy of Bacon." 

John Locke (1632-1704). Author of two "Treatises on Govern- 
ment" (1690), " Thoughts Concerning Education" (1693), " Essay on 
the Human Understanding" (1690), etc. 

Thomas Hobbes (i 588-1679). Author of" Human Nature " (1650), 
"Leviathan" (1651), "The Behemoth" (1678). 

Theologians. — Joseph Butler (1692-1752). Bishop of Durham, 
and author of " The Analogy of Religion to the Constitution and 
Course of Nature" (1736). 

Gilbert Burnet (1643-17 15). Bishop of Salisbury, and author of 
the " History of the Reformation " (1681), " Life of Sir Matthew Hale " 
(1682), etc. 

Ralph Cudworth ( 161 7-1 688) . Author of " True Intellectual System 
of the Universe" (1678). 

John Tillotson (1630-1694). Archbishop of Canterbury, author of 
" The Rule of Faith " (1666), and " Sermons." 

Jeremy Collier (1650-1726). Nonconformist clergyman, and au- 
thor of various works, of which the best known is " A Short View of 
the Profaneness and Immorality of the Stage" (1698), His vigorous 
attacks led to a purification of the theatre. 

195 



196 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

, Novelists. — Daniel Defoe (1663-1731). Voluminous author, best 
known for his " Robinson Crusoe" (1719), '' Moll Flanders'' (1721), 
•'Journal of the Plague '' (1722), etc. 

Samuel Richardson ( 1689- 1 761). First novelist of love, author of 
"Pamela" (1740), "Clarissa Harlowe " (1749), and "Sir Charles 
Grandison " (1754), written to exhibit an ideal hero. 

Henry Fielding (1707-1754). Author of "Joseph Andrews" (1742), 
"Jonathan Wild" (1743), "Tom Jones"' (1749), "Amelia" (175 1), etc. 

Dramatists. — William Wycherly (1640-1715). Best drama, "The 
Country Wife" (1675). 

William Congreve (1670-1729). Principal piece, "Love for Love" 
(1695). 

George Farquhar (1678-1707). Most popular work, " The Beaux's 
Stratagem" (1707). 

Miscellaneous Prose. — Sir William Temple (1628-1699). States- 
man, and author of "Ancient and Modern Learning" (1692). 

Sir Richard Steele (1671-1729). Author of "The Christian Hero" 
(1701), several comedies, "The Funeral, or Grief a la Mode" (1702), 
"The Tender Husband" (1703), founder of the Tatler^ and distin- 
guished essayist. 

Poets. — Samuel Butler (161 2-1680). Author of "Hudibras" 
(1662- 1 678), a mock-heroic poem ridicuHng the Puritans. 

James Thomson (1700-1748). Author of " The Seasons" (1726- 
1730), several dramas, and "The Castle of Indolence " (1748), a polished 
poem in Spenserian verse. 

Edward Young (1681-1765). Royal chaplain, and author of "The 
Love of Fame" (1725-1728), a series of satires, and "The Complaint, 
or Night Thoughts " (1742-1746), on which his fame chiefly rests. 

GREAT REPRESENTATIVE WRITERS. 

John Dryden. Alexander Pope. 

Joseph Addison. Jonathan Swift. 



V. 
FIRST CRITICAL PERIOD. 

(1660-1745.) 

Puritan extreme — Reaction — French influence — Natural science — 
Transition — Greater toleration — Deism — Augustan Age — Eng- 
lish influence — Social condition — Woman — Witchcraft — Rise 
of Methodism — Reading public — Clubs — Periodicals — Diarists, 
Evelyn and Pepys — John Locke — Steele — Rise of the novel — 
Defoe — Richardson — Fielding — Samuel Butler — James Thomson 
— Edward Young — John Dr yden — Joseph Addison — Alexan- 
der Pope — Jonathan Swift. 

This period extends from the Restoration to the death 
of Pope and Swift. It was ushered in by a violent 
reaction. 

With all its moral earnestness and love of freedom, 
Puritanism had degenerated into a false and forbidding 
asceticism. It condemned many innocent pleasures. It 
clothed morality and religion in a garb of cant. The 
claims of the physical and intellectual parts of man were, 
under the influence of a terrific theology, sacrificed to his 
spiritual interests. All spontaneous joy and gayety were 
banished from life. The Puritan's steps were slow ; his 
face was elongated ; his tone had a nasal quality. He 
gave his children names drawn from the Scriptures ; and 
shutting his eyes to the beauties of the world about him, 
and forgetting the infinite love of God, he lived perpetu- 
ally in the shadow of divine wrath. His religion, at war 

197 



198 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

with nature and the gospel, degenerated into fanaticism 
and weighed heavily upon the life of the English nation. 

With the Restoration, Puritanism was overthrown. The 
Royalist party, with its sharp contrasts to Puritan princi- 
ples, again came into power. The result in its moral 
effects was dreadful. The stream of license, which had 
been held in check for years, burst forth with fearful 
momentum. The reign of the flesh set in. Virtue was 
held to savor of Puritanism ; duty was thought to smack 
of fanaticism ; and integrity, patriotism, and honor were 
regarded as mere devices for self-aggrandizement. Under 
the lead of Charles II., himself a notorious libertine, the 
court became a scene of shameless and almost incredible 
debauchery. The effect upon literature can be easily 
imagined. It debased the moral tone of poetry and the 
drama to a shocking degree. As Dryden tells us in one 
of his epilogues : — 

" The poets who must live by courts, or starve, 
Were proud so good a government to serve ; 
And, mixing with buffoons and pimps profane, 
Tainted the stage, for some small snip of gain." 

But there are other respects in which the Restoration 
affected literature. Charles II. returned to England with 
French companions and French tastes. It was but natu- 
ral, therefore, that English literature should be influenced 
by French models. It was the Augustan Age of literature 
in France. Louis XIV., the most powerful monarch in 
Europe, had gathered about him the best literary talent of 
the age. Corneille, Moliere, and Racine gave great splen- 
dor to dramatic poetry, and Boileau developed the art of 



FIRST CRITICAL PERIOD. 1 99 

criticism. But the French drama, besides following classi- 
cal models in regard to the unities, imposed the burden of 
rhymed couplets upon dramatic composition. It was in 
obedience to the wish of Charles that rhyme was first 
introduced into the English drama. Through French in- 
fluence the course of the drama, as it had been developed 
by the great Elizabethans, was seriously interrupted. 

But in respect to literary criticism, the influence of 
France was more salutary. Boileau had displayed great 
critical acumen in estimating French authors, and had laid 
down correct principles by which to judge literary compo- 
sition. The art of criticism took root in England. Dry- 
den, whom Johnson calls the father of English criticism, sat 
at the feet of his great French contemporary, and in his 
numerous prefaces exhibited admirable judgment in weigh- 
ing the productions both of ancient and modern times. 

Pope, the greatest writer of the period, likewise followed 
French models. The characteristics of the new criticism, 
which gradually fashioned a corresponding literature, were 
clearness, simpHcity, and good sense. 

The Restoration gave a new impulse to natural science. 
Charles II. was himself something of a chemist, and even 
the profligate Buckingham varied his debaucheries with 
experiments in his laboratory. In 1662 the Royal Society 
was founded, and for half a century inventions and discov- 
eries in science followed one another in rapid succession. 
The national observatory at Greenwich was established. 
The spirit of investigation showed great vigor. Halley 
studied the tides, comets, and terrestrial magnetism. Boyle 
improved the air-pump and founded experimental chemis- 
try. Mineralogy, zoology, and botany either had their 



200 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

beginning or made noteworthy progress at this time. It 
was the age of Sir Isaac Newton. 

But this period was one of ferment and transition. Old 
faiths in politics, philosophy, and religion were being cast 
aside. Tradition and custom were summoned before the 
bar of reason. ** From the moment of the Restoration," 
says Green, " we find ourselves all at once among the 
great currents of thought and activity which have gone 
on widening and deepening from that time to this. The 
England around us becomes our England, an England 
whose chief forces are industry and science, the love of 
popular freedom and of law ; an England which presses 
steadily forward to a larger social justice and equality, and 
which tends more and more to bring every custom and tra- 
dition, religious, intellectual, and political, to the test of 
pure reason." The belief in the divine right of kings 
became a thing of the past. With the Revolution of 1688, 
which placed William of Orange on the throne, the pro- 
longed conflict between the people and the king came to 
an end. The executive supremacy was transferred from 
the crown to the House of Commons. 

During the latter part of this period the three great 
religious parties — Anglicans, Dissenters, and Roman 
Catholics — grew somewhat more tolerant. The severity 
of the law was in a measure relaxed. 

Within the Church of England there arose a class of 
divines who, because of their tolerant views, were stigma- 
tized as " latitudinarians." Avoiding the scholasticism of 
the preceding age, they studied Scripture with a genial 
spirit. The evils of strife, as well as a sense of danger 
from infidelity, made them desire Christian unity, which 



FIRST CRITICAL PERIOD. 201 

they recognized as the normal condition of the church. 
Among the most distinguished of these broad church- 
men were Ralph Cudworth, Henry More, and John 
Tillotson. 

A still more important movement in theology was the 
rise of Deism, which owed its prevalence to several co- 
operative causes. As we have seen, there was a general 
tendency to break away from the restraints of authority 
in every department of thought. The divisions and ani- 
mosities of the church tended to unsettle the faith of many 
in the teachings of Christianity. And above all, perhaps, 
the license of the age sought to emancipate itself from the 
restraints of divine law. 

In its progress Deism showed a rapid declension. It 
began with Lord Herbert of Cherbury, who reduced reli- 
gion to five points: i, that there is a God; 2, that he is 
to be worshipped ; 3, that piety and virtue are the princi- 
pal parts of this worship ; 4, that men should repent and 
forsake sin ; and 5, that good will be rewarded and sin 
punished. This scheme of doctrine represents Deism at 
its best. The writings of the deists, among whom may be 
mentioned Hobbes, Blount, and Lord Bolingbroke, natu- 
rally called forth many replies. The controversy, which 
was protracted far into the eighteenth century, was con- 
ducted with great ability on both sides. Among the de- 
fenders of Christianity, with whom ultimately remained 
the victory, were Cudworth, John Locke the philosopher, 
and Joseph Butler, the author of the famous ''Analogy." 

About the time Queen Anne ascended the English throne 
in 1702, English literature, under the moulding influence 
from France, began to assume a more elegant form. The 



202 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

first half of the eighteenth century has sometimes been 
characterized as the August an Age. It has been thought, 
not without some reason, to resemble the flourishing period 
of Roman literature under Augustus, when Ovid, Horace, 
Cicero, and Virgil produced their immortal works. The 
names of Addison, Pope, and Swift are not unworthy to 
be placed side by side with the proudest names in the 
literature of Rome. 

In this period the political principles of the Revolution 
became predominant. Absolutism gave place to constitu- 
tional government. The Tories and the Whigs became 
well-marked parties and in turn succeeded to the govern- 
ment. Corrupt political methods were frequently resorted 
to in order to gain party ascendency. Walpole boasted 
that every man had his price. An unselfish patriotism was 
too often looked on as youthful enthusiasm, which the cool- 
ness of age would cure. Leading statesmen led impure 
and dissipated lives. 

Yet in spite of these conditions, England attained to 
great infiuence in continental affairs. Victory attended 
her arms on the Continent under the leadership of Marl- 
borough. The battles of Blenheim, Ramillies, Oudenarde, 
and Malplaquet brought the power of Louis XIV. to the 
verge of destruction. The balance of power was restored 
to Europe. The union of England and Scotland was ef- 
fected in 1707, and EngHsh sovereigns henceforth reigned 
over the kingdom of S^reat Britain. The power of English 
thought, as well as of English arms, was felt abroad. 
Buffon found inspiration in its science ; Montesquieu 
studied the institutions of England with great care ; and 
Rousseau borrowed many of his thoughts from Locke. 



FIRST CRITICAL PERIOD. 203 

The English people once more became conscious of their 
strength, and felt the uplifting power of great hopes and 
splendid purposes. 

In several particulars the state of society does not pre- 
sent a pleasing picture. Education was confined to a com- 
paratively limited circle. Addison complained that there 
were families in which not a single person could spell, 
" unless it be by chance the butler or one of the footmen." 
Cock-fighting was the favorite sport of schoolboys, and 
bull-baiting twice a week deHghted the populace of Lon- 
don. The theatres were not yet fully redeemed from the 
licentiousness of the preceding period. Gambling was a 
common vice ; and, what appears strange to us, the women 
of the time showed a strong passion for this excitement. 
Speaking of Will's Coffee-house, the Tatler says: "This 
place is very much altered since Mr. Dryden frequented it. 
Where you used to see songs, epigrams, and satires in the 
hands of every one you met, you have now only a pack of 
cards." Fashionable hours became later, and a consider- 
able part of the night was frequently given to dissipation. 
Drunkenness increased with the introduction of gin. The 
police was not able to control the lawless classes, and in 
the cities mobs not infrequently vented their rage in con- 
flagration and pillage. When Sir Roger de Coverley, as 
portrayed by Addison, went to the theatre, he armed his 
servants with cudgels for protection. 

Woman had not yet found her true sphere; and, in 
wealthy or fashionable circles, her time was devoted chiefly 
to dress, frivolity, and scandal. In the '' Rape of the 
Lock " Pope gives us a gUmpse of conversation in court 
circles : — 



204 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

"In various talk th' instructive hours they passed, 
Who gave the ball, or paid the visit last ; 
One speaks the glory of the British queen, 
And one describes a charming Indian screen ; 
A third interprets motions, looks, and eyes ; 
At every word a reputation dies ; 
SnuiT, or the fan, supplies each pause of chat, 
With singing, laughing, ogling, and all that." 

Belief in witchcraft had not entirely passed away. In 
171 2 a witch was condemned to death; and her prosecu- 
tion was conducted, not by ignorant rustics, but by a 
learned author and an educated clergyman. It is in keep- 
ing with the belief of the time to find Sir Roger de Cover- 
ley puzzled over the character of Moll White and piously 
advising her " to avoid all communication with the devil, 
and never to hurt any of her neighbor's cattle." Super- 
stition was common, and people of every class had faith in 
omens. Religion was at a low ebb. Scepticism was ex- 
tensively prevalent, especially among the higher classes, 
and many of the clergy thought more of the pleasures of 
the chase than of the care of souls. " Every one laughs," 
said Montesquieu, " if one talks of religion." 

But there is also a more favorable side to the social 
condition of England during this period — some influences 
that contain the promise of a brighter day. In spite of 
the low state of Christianity, earnest men, like Doddridge, 
Watts, and William Law, were not wanting to inculcate a 
genuine piety. The rise of Methodism under John Wesley 
and George Whitefield exerted a salutary influence upon 
the religious life of England. These great preachers, im- 
pressed by the realities of sin, redemption, and eternal life, 



FIRST CRITICAL PERIOD. 20$ 

urged these truths with surpassing eloquence upon the 
multitudes that flocked to hear them. Before the'death of 
John Wesley his followers numbered a hundred thousand, 
and the Established Church was awakened to a new zeal. 

The great middle class of England came mto greater 
prominence and gradually formed a reading public. Lit- 
erature became independent of patronage. It did not pre- 
tend to deal with the great problems of human thought, 
but as a rule confined itself to criticism, satire, wit, the 
minor morals, and the small proprieties of life. But 
through French and classic influences, these subjects were 
treated with a lightness of touch and elegance of form that 
have never been surpassed. 

The clubs became an important feature of social life* 
in London. Coffee-houses multiplied, till in 1708 they 
reached the number of three thousand. They became 
centres for the diffusion of intelligence. Here the lead- 
ing political, literary, and social questions of the day were 
discussed. 

Periodical publications became an important factor in 
the intellectual life of England. In 1714 no fewer than 
fourteen papers were published in London. The princi- 
pal periodicals were the Tatler, Spectator^ and Giiardian, 
which were conducted in a manner not only to refine the 
taste, but also to improve the morals. Made up of brief, 
entertaining, and often elegant essays, and treating of 
every subject from epic poems to female toilets, they came 
to be welcomed at the club-house and breakfast-table, and 
exerted a wide and salutary influence upon the thought 
and life of the country. 

Before entering upon a consideration of the great repre- 



206 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

sentative writers of this period, there are a few others that 
deserve mention. John Evelyn and Samuel Pepys were 
two diarists, who have earned the thanks of posterity for 
the minute glimpses they give of the manners of the time. 
They both occupied high positions ; and their daily entries 
furnish us small details, not only of much interest, but of 
historic value. As their diaries were not intended for pub- 
lication, they present unvarnished and often unflattering 
facts. The luxury, gambling, and licentiousness of the 
court of Charles II. are disclosed in the plainest terms. 
The following extract from Pepys, who was far from a 
model character, gives an idea of the amusements of the 
time: "Dec. 21. To Shoe Lane to see a cock-fight at 
a new pit there, a spot I never was at in my life ; but, 
Lord ! to see the strange variety of people, from parlia- 
ment men, to the poorest 'prentices, bakers, brewers, 
butchers, draymen and what not, and all these fellows 
one with another cursing and betting. I soon had enough 
of it." 

One of the greatest of all English philosophers was 
John Locke. He superintended the education of the Earl 
of Shaftesbury's son — an experience which developed the 
independent views contained in '' Some Thoughts Con- 
cerning Education." His educational ideal was "a sound 
mind in a sound body," and he strongly inveighed against 
the unpractical character of the system then in vogue. 
He deservedly ranks among educational reformers. In 
1689 he published a "Letter on Toleration" (afterward 
followed by several others), in which he maintained that 
charity, meekness, and good-will toward all mankind rather 
than zeal for dogma and ceremonies were the true marks 



FIRST CRITICAL PERIOD. 20/ 

of Christian character. The work, however, through which 
he has exerted the greatest influence is his " Essay Con- 
cerning the Human .Understanding " — a profound treatise 
that marks an epoch in the history of philosophy. Its 
object, as explained in the introduction, was ''to inquire 
into the origin, certainty, and extent of human knowledge, 
together with the grounds and degrees of belief, opinion, 
and assent." 

Sir Richard Steele, the friend of Addison, led a some- 
what wayward life. He left Oxford without taking his 
degree, and enlisted in the Horse Guards — an impru- 
dence that cost him an inheritance. He rose to the rank 
of captain, but was gay, reckless, and dissipated. His 
naturally tender heart was constantly overcome by his 
imperious appetites, and his life presents a series of 
alternate repentance and dissipation. In 1701 he wrote 
the " Christian Hero," for the purpose of impressing the 
principles of virtue upon his own heart. Though it is 
filled with lofty sentiment, it remained without serious 
effect upon the author's life. Then followed in annual 
succession several moderate comedies. At length ap- 
pointed Gazetteer, a position that gave him a monopoly 
of official news, he began the Tatler, called Addison to 
his aid, and was eclipsed by his coadjutor. 

It was during this period that the modern novel had its 
origin. Before the middle of the eighteenth century, 
several works of fiction were produced that have gained 
a permanent place in our literature. Avoiding the highly 
colored and extravagant elements of Elizabethan romance, 
they portray the scenes and characters of everyday life. 
The founder of the English novel was Daniel Defoe, a 



208 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

varied and prolific writer, who in some of his views was in 
advance of his age. In 1698 he pubUshed an ''Essay on 
Projects," in which he advocated the estabUshment of 
insurance companies, savings banks for the poor, and col- 
leges for women. " A woman well-bred and well-taught," 
he said, " furnished with the additional accomplishments 
of knowledge and behavior, is a creature without compari- 
son." His "True-born Englishman," a poetical satire in 
defence of King William, appeared in 1701, and eighty 
thousand copies were sold on the streets of London. 
What it lacks in poetry it makes up in homely vigor. 
The opening lines are well known : — 

" Wherever God erects a house of prayer, 
The devil ahvays builds a chapel there ; 
And 'twill be found upon examination, 
The latter has the largest congregation." 

7 

Defoe's ''Robinson Crusoe" appeared in if 19 and in- 
stantly became popular. Few other English books have 
been more widely read. "Nobody," said Johnson, "ever 
laid it down without wishing it longer." It was suggested 
by the real experience of Alexander Selkirk, and describes 
the life and adventures of Robinson Crusoe, who lived for 
twenty-eight years on an uninhabited island off the coast 
of South America. Encouraged by the success of " Rob- 
inson Crusoe," the author wrote other fictitious narratives, 
among which are " Moll Flanders," " Captain Singleton," 
and the " History of the Great Plague." All possess the 
charm of simplicity of style and air of truth. 

Samuel Richardson deserves to be considered the first 
great English novelist. At first a printer, he stumbled, at 



FIRST CRITICAL PERIOD. 209 

the age of fifty, on the literary work that was to make him 
famous. It was suggested to him that he should prepare 
" a little volume of letters, in common style, on such sub- 
jects as might be of use to those country readers who 
were unable to indite for themselves." In undertaking 
the work, the happy thought occurred to him to embody 
in a series of letters an interesting story he had heard 
from a friend years before. The result was his first novel 
" Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded." Judged by present stand- 
ards, the work is prolix and tedious ; but when it appeared 
in 1 740, it was something new and had a widespread pop- 
ularity. It was followed a few years later by " Clarissa 
Harlowe," by common consent Richardson's masterpiece. 
"This work raised the fame of its author to its height," 
said Sir Walter Scott, '* and no work had appeared before, 
perhaps none has appeared since, containing such direct 
appeals to the passions in a manner so irresistible." 

Henry Fielding — lawyer, journalist, dramatist^ — had 
abundant opportunity to observe the varied phases of Eng- 
lish life. With abounding vitality and humor, he described 
men as he saw them. He was an eighteenth-century real- 
ist. The scenes he presents are often coarse and low ; but 
these faults are to be imputed less to the painter than to 
the age he describes. When *' Pamela" appeared in 1740, 
Fielding did not sympathize with what he regarded as its 
ostentatious morality and excessive sentimentalism. He 
conceived the idea of a caricature ; and, accordingly, in 
1742, he produced his "Joseph Andrews." It abounded 
in humor, exuberant feeling, and overflowing benevolence, 
and was received with scarcely less favor than the work it 
was designed to ridicule. 



2IO ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

In 1749, in the full maturity of his powers, Fielding 
published his ablest work, ** Tom Jones." The scene of 
the story is laid partly in the country, and partly in the 
city, and taken altogether the work may be regarded as an 
epic of English life. The characters have a singular real- 
ity. It is framed on a large scale and introduces a great 
many types of character. In its personages, manners, 
amusements, tone of thought, and forms of expression, it 
introduces us better than any history to the England of a 
century and a half ago. The author claimed superiority 
over professed historians. " In their productions," he de- 
clared, " nothing is true but the names and dates, whereas 
in mine everything is true but the names and dates." The 
style of '*Tom Jones," as in all Fielding's novels, is excel- 
lent ; and what gives the book a peculiar charm, is the dis- 
interested, genial spirit — a little too indulgent, perhaps, to 
the weakness of our nature — with which he seems to look 
on the scenes he portrays. 

Among the secondary poets to be mentioned, the first in 
time, as also in popularity, was Samuel Butler, who gave 
expression to the great anti-Puritanic reaction of the Res- 
toration. His " Hudibras," the first part of which appeared 
in 1662, is a humorous satire against the Puritans, and in 
its day was exceedingly popular. Of Charles II. it was 

said that — 

" He never ate, nor drank, nor slept, 

But Hudibras still near him kept." 

The hero of the satire is a Puritan justice of the peace, 
who, with his servant Ralph, sallied forth, like another Don 
Quixote, to put an end to the amusements and follies of the 
people. Of course he came to grief. But the interest of 






FIRST CRITICAL PERIOD. 211 

the poem is not in the story, but in its humorous descrip- 
tions and electric flashes of wit. Few other books have 
been oftener quoted. Here is a description of Sir Hudi- 

bras: — ,, . , . 

"He was in logic a great critic, 

Profoundly skilled in analytic ; 

He could distinguish and divide 

A hair 'twixt south and south-west side ; 

On either which he would dispute, 

Confute, change hands, and still confute." 

The following are well-known couplets : — 

'' For all a rhetorician's rules 
Teach nothing but to name his tools." 

"He that complies against his will, 
Is of the same opinion still." 

" And, like a lobster boiled, the morn 
From black to red began to turn." 

" Compound for sins they are inclined to. 
By damning those they have no mind to." 

James Thomson has been justly called the poet of 
nature. His ''Seasons," which appeared between 1726 
and 1730, possessed the charm of novelty. ''The fresh 
treatment of a simple theme," to use the words of Professor 
Minto, " the warm poetical coloring of commonplace inci- 
dents, the freedom and irregularity of the plan, the boldness 
of the descriptions, the manly and sincere sentiment, the 
rough vigor of the verse, took by surprise a generation 
accustomed to witty satire and burlesque, refined diction, 
translations from the classics, themes valued in proportion 
to their remoteness from vulgar life." Thomson looked 
upon nature with a poet's eyes. If he learned from books, 



212 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

he learned also from observation. There is truth in the 
lines describing his poetical life : — 

" I solitary court 
The inspiring breeze, and meditate the book 
Of Nature, ever open ; aiming thence, 
Warm from the heart, to pour the moral song." 

f 

His descriptions are wonderfully accurate, .vivid, pictu- 
resque. There is no phase of the various forms of 
earth and sky too delicate to escape his minute observa- 
tion. There is great dignity and beauty, for example, in 
his description of sunrise : — 

" But yonder comes the powerful King of Day, 
Rejoicing in tlie east. The lessening cloud, 
The kindling azure, and the mountain's brow 
Illumed with fluid gold, his near approach 
Betoken glad. Lo ! now, apparent all. 
Aslant the dew-bright earth and colored air. 
He looks in boundless majesty abroad, 
And sheds the shining day, that burnished plays 
On rocks, and hills, and towers, and wandering streams, 
High gleaming from afar." 

His *' Castle of Indolence," written in the Spenserian 
stanza, is polished to great correctness of form ; but, in 
spite of its excellence, it has never been very popular. 

The poetry and the life of Edward Young present a 
painful contrast. In his poems he assumes the role of 
a high religious moralist ; but in his life he was an ob- 
sequious courtier and persistent place-seeker. It was a 
great disappointment to him that George II., to whom 
he addressed a poem containing the following lines, took 
him at his word : — 



F/J^ST CRITICAL PERIOD. 213 

'• O may I steal 

Along the vale 
Of humble life, secure from foes ! 

My friend sincere, 

My judgment clear, 
And gentle business my repose." 

Among his numerous books there are two that are 
not unworthy of mention. " The Love of Fame " 
is a series of satires concluded in 1728. The love of 
praise is presented as a universal passion. The Duke 
of Grafton was so pleased with the poem that he pre- 
sented the author two thousand pounds. ** What ! " re- 
monstrated one of the Duke's friends, "two thousand 
pounds for a poem!" *'Yes," replied his Grace, *' and 
it is the best bargain I ever made in my life, for the poem 
is worth four thousand." The poem begins : — 

" The love of praise, howe'er concealed by art, 
Reigns more or less, and glows in every heart ; 
The proud, to gain it, toils on toils endure ; 
The modest shun it, but to make it sure." 

The chief work entithng Young to a place in the annals 
of English Uterature is his " Night Thoughts." It was 
inspired by a triple bereavement that overwhelmed the 
poet with sorrow. "It differs," as he tells us, "from the 
common mode of poetry, which is, from long narratives to 
draw short morals ; here, on the contrary, the narrative is 
short, and the morality arising from it makes the bulk of 
the poem. The reason of it is that the facts mentioned 
did naturally pour these reflections on the thoughts of 
the writer." The poem embodies a sombre, ascetic view 
of life. Its style is characterized by short, exclamatory 



214 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

utterances, the suggestiveness of which is often quite 
effective. The opening Hnes, which are often referred to, 
are as follows : — 

" Tired Nature's sweet restorer^ balmy Sleep ! 
He, like the world, his ready visit pays. 
Where Fortune smiles ; the wretched he forsakes ; 
Swift on his downy pinion flies from woe, 
And lights on lids unsullied by a tear." 

Young's works abound in brief sententious sayings, and 
he rivals Shakespeare and Pope in the number of pro- 
verbial expressions that have passed into current use. A 
few will serve for illustration : — 

" Tis impious in a good man to be sad." 

" 'Tis vain to seek in men for more than man." 

" Pygmies are pygmies still, though perched on Alps." 

" Death loves a shining mark, a signal blow." 

" The man that blushes is not quite a brute." 

''Earth's highest station ends in '■ Here he lies ; ' 
And ' dust to dust ' concludes the noblest song." 

The mind that coined these and many similar expres- 
sions was endowed with no ordinary gifts. 




L 






EiiL-M-itNit-l Ijy ^'^■ruu■ HI 17.';i>. 



^on.: ^^^i^- 



JOHN DRYDEN. 21 5 



JOHN DRYDEN. 

One of the greatest names in the literature of this 
period is John Dryden. He does not deserve, indeed, 
to stand by the side of Chaucer, Spenser, Shakespeare, or 
Milton ; but after these great names he comes at the head 
of the second rank. It was the fault of his age that he 
was not greater. No man can wholly detach himself from 
the influences by which he is surrounded ; and Dryden 
came on the stage when a false taste prevailed, and when 
licentiousness gave moral tone to poetry. Living in the 
midst of burning religious and political questions, he was 
drawn into the vortex of controversy. He was always a 
partisan in some religious or political issue of the day. 
While this fact has given us some of the best satirical and 
didactic poems in our language, it did not contribute, per- 
haps, to the largest development of his poetical powers. 

His aims were not high enough. " I confess," he said, 
'' my chief endeavors are to delight the age in which I 
live. If the humor of this be for low comedy, small acci- 
dents, and raillery, I will force my genius to obey it." 
This was a voluntary degrading of his genius and an 
intentional renouncing of the artistic spirit. Guided by 
such motives, it was impossible for him to attain the high- 
est results. If, like Milton, he had concentrated all the 
energies of his strong nature on an epic poem, as he once 
contemplated, or on poetry as an art, his work would no 



2l6 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

doubt have been less faulty. But, taking him as he was, 
we cannot help admiring his genius, which created for 
him a distinct place in English literature. 

Dryden was born of good family in Northamptonshire 
in 163 1. Both on his father's and his mother's side his 
ancestry was Puritan and republican. He was educated 
at Westminster school, under the famous Dr. Busby. A 
schoolboy poem on the death of Lord Hastings had the 
distinction, and we may add the misfortune, of being pub- 
lished in connection with several other elegies called forth 
by the same event. Some of its conceits are exceedingly 
ridiculous. The young nobleman had died, of the small- 
pox, and Dryden exclaims : — 

" Was there no milder way than the small-pox, 
The very filthiness of Pandora's box ? " 

Of the pustules he says : — 

" Each little pimple had a tear in it, 
To wail the fault its rising did commit." 

And as the climax of this absurdity : — 

"No comet need foretell his change drew on, 
Whose corpse might seem a constellation." 

Dryden's genius was slow in maturing, and much of his 
early work failed to give promise of his future eminence. 

He entered Trinity College,- Cambridge, in 1650, and 
took his degree of Bachelor of Arts in 1654. No details 
of his college life have come down to us, except his pun- 
ishment on one occasion for '' disobedience to the vice- 
master, and contumacy in taking his punishment, inflicted 
by him." In 1654, by the death of his father, he came 



JOHN DRYDEN, 21/ 

into the possession of a small estate worth about sixty 
pounds a year. After leaving Cambridge, for which he 
entertained no great affection, he went to London, and 
served for a time as secretary to his cousin. Sir Gilbert 
Pickering, a favorite of Cromwell. 

In 1658 he composed ''Heroic Stanzas" on the death 
of Oliver Cromwell, which caused him to be spoken of as 
a rising poet. Though disfigured here and there by con- 
ceits, it is, upon the whole, a strong, manly poem, showing 
a just appreciation of the great Protector's life. His next 
effort does not reflect credit on his character. It was the 
" Astrsea Redux," written " on the happy restoration and 
return of his sacred Majesty, Charles II." After his 
eulogy of Cromwell two years before, we are hardly pre- 
pared for such lines as these : — 

'^ For his long absence Church and State did groan ; 
Madness the pulpit, faction seized the throne : 
Experienced age in deep despair was lost, 
To see the rebel thrive, the loyal crossed." 

In 1663 he began to write for the stage. Instead of 
seeking to elevate pubHc morals, or to attain perfection in 
art, it is to the lasting discredit of Dryden that he pandered 
to the vicious taste of the time. His first play, '' The Wild 
Gallant," was not successful ; and Pepys, in his " Diary," 
pronounced it '' so poor a thing as ever I saw in my life." 
Without following him through the vicissitudes of his dra- 
matic career, it is enough to say that he wrote in all twenty- 
eight comedies and tragedies, and at length established his 
position as the first dramatist of his time. For a longtime 
he followed French models, but at last came to recognize 
and professedly to imitate the " divine Shakespeare." In 



2l8 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

his comedies, as he tells us, he copied ** the gallantries of 
the court." When in later years Jeremy Collier severely 
attacked the immoralities of the stage, Dry den, unlike sev- 
eral of his fellow-dramatists who attempted a reply, pleaded 
guilty, and retracted all thoughts and expressions that 
could be fairly charged with '' obscenity, profaneness, or 
immorality." 

In his tragedies he imitated the heroic style of Corneille. 
They contain much splendid declamation, which too often 
degenerates into bombast. But frequently he reaches the 
height of genuine poetry. Only a poet could have written 
these lines : — ,^ ^ i . ,., 

'' Something like 
That voice, methinks, I should have somewhere heard ; 
But floods of woe have hurried it far off 
Beyond my ken of soul." 

Or these : — 

" I feel death rising higher still and higher 
Within my bosom ; every breath I fetch 
Shuts up my hfe within a shorter compass, 
And, like the vanishing sound of bells, grows less 
And less each pulse, till it be lost in air.'' 

When he moralizes, he is often admirable : — 

" The gods are just, 
But how can finite measure infinite? 
Reason! alas, it does not know itself ! 
Yet man, vain man, would with his short-lined plummet 
Fathom the vast abyss of heavenly justice. 
Whatever is, is in its causes just. 
Since all things are by fate. But purblind man 
Sees but a part o' th' chain, the nearest links, 
His eyes not carrying to that equal beam 
That poises all above." 



I 



JOHN DRY DEN. 219 

But the drama was not Dryden's sphere. In his mind 
the judgment had the ascendency over the imagination. 
He was strongest in analyzing, arguing, criticising. He 
was a master of satire — not indeed of that species which 
slovenly butchers a man, to use his own comparison, but 
rather of that species which has "the fineness of stroke 
to separate the head from the body and leave it standing 
in its place." We shall say nothing of his ** Annus Mira- 
bilis," a long poem an the Dutch war and the London 
fire, except that it contains some of his manliest lines. It 
is not easy to surpass : — 

" Silent in smoke of cannon they come on ; " 

" And his loud guns speak thick, like angry men ; " 

" The vigorous seaman every port-hole plies, 
And adds his heart to every gun he fires." 

In 1 68 1 appeared the famous satire, "Absalom and 
Achitophel," the object of which was to bring discredit on 
the Earl of Shaftesbury and his adherents, who were seek- 
insf to secure the succession to the throne for the Duke of 
Monmouth, Charles's eldest son. It has been called the 
best political satire ever written. There is no effort at 
playful and dehcate art ; the poem was composed in ear- 
nest, and it abounds in hard, sweeping, stunning blows. It 
was eagerly seized upon by the public, and in a year no 
fewer than nine editions were called for. The Earl of 
Shaftesbury figures as Achitophel : — 

" A name to all succeeding ages curst : 
For close designs, and crooked counsels fit ; 
Sagacious, bold, and turbulent of wit ; 



220 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

Restless, unfix'd in principles and place ; 

In power unpleased. impatient of disgrace : 

A fiery soul, which, working out its way, 

Fretted the pygmy-body to decay. 

And o'er-inform'd the tenement of clay ; 

A daring pilot in extremity ; 

Pleased with the danger, when the waves went high, 

He sought the storms ; but for a calm unfit, 

Would steer too nigh the sands to boast his wit." 

The Duke of Buckingham is Zimri, whose character is 
outlined with astonishing power : — 

"A man so various, that he seemed to be 
Not one, but all mankind's epitome : 
Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong ; 
Was everything by starts, and nothing long : 
But in the course of one revolving moon, 
■ Was Chymist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon : 
Then all for women, painting, rhyming, drinking. 
Besides ten thousand freaks that died in thinking. 
Bless'd madman, who could every hour employ, 
With something new to wish, or to enjoy! 
Railing and praising were his usual themes ; 
* And both, to show his judgment, in extremes." 

In 1682 appeared the *' Religio Laici." As an ex- 
position of a layman's faith it was probably an honest 
presentation of Dryden's beliefs at the time. Whether 
intended to serve a political purpose or not, is a matter of 
dispute ; but it attacks the Papists and at the same time 
declares the ** Fanatics," by whom are meant the Non- 
conformists, still more dangerous — a declaration that 
accorded well with Charles's policy of persecution. It is 
entirely didactic in character and deservedly ranks as one 






JOHN DRY DEN. 221 

of the very best poems of its class in English. Though 

it is closely argumentative throughout, it still contains 

passages of much beauty. The opening lines are justly 

admired : — 

" Dim as the borrowed beams of moon and stars 
To lonely, weary, wandering travellers 
Is Reason to the soul : and as on high 
Those rolling fires discover but the sky, 
Not light us here, so Reason's glimmering ray 
Was lent, not to assure our doubtful way, 
But guide us upward to a better day. 
And as those nightly tapers disappear 
When day's bright lord ascends our hemisphere, 
So pale grows Reason at Religion's sight, 
So dies, and so dissolves in supernatural light." 

In the preface to the poem Dryden has given us the 
ideal of style at which he aimed, and which he largely real- 
ized : " If any one be so lamentable a critic as to require 
the smoothness, the numbers, and the turn of heroic poetry 
in this poem, I must tell him that, if he has not read 
Horace, I have studied him and hope the style of his Epis- 
tles is not ill imitated here. The expressions of a poem 
designed purely for instruction ought to be plain and 
natural, and yet majestic ; for here the poet is presumed to 
be a kind of lawgiver, and those three qualities which I 
have named are proper to the legislative style. The florid, 
elevated, and figurative way is for the passions ; for love 
and hatred, fear and anger, are begotten in the soul by 
showing their objects out of their true proportion, either 
greater than the life or less ; but instruction is to be given 
by showing them what they naturally are. A man is to be 
cheated into passion, but to be reasoned into truth." 



222 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

In 1683 appeared a translation of Boileau's " L'Art 
Poetique." Though at first translated by a friend, Dry- 
den's revisal made it practically his own. It is of inter- 
est, not only as showing the direct influence of French 
masters, but as setting forth the principles that under- 
lay Dryden's later work and the poetry of the earlier 
half of the eighteenth century. Reason largely takes 
the place of imagination. Thus : — 

" Whate'er you write of pleasant or sublime, 
Always let sense accompany your rhyme ; 
Falsely they seem each other to oppose ; 
Rhyme must be made with reason's laws to close." 

And in regard to diction : — 

" Observe the language well in all you write, 
And swerve not from it in your loftiest flight. 
The smoothest verse and the exactest sense 
Displease us, if ill English give offence. 
Take time for thinking ; never work in haste ; 
And value not yourself for writing fast." 

On the accession of James, in 1685, Dryden became a 
Roman Catholic. This conversion has given rise to con- 
siderable discussion. Did it result from conviction or 
from self-interest.? It is impossible to determine. But, 
in the moderate language of Johnson, ''That conversion 
will always be suspected that apparently concurs with 
interest. He that never finds his error till it hinders his 
progress toward wealth or honor, will not be thought 
to love truth only for herself. Yet it may easily happen 
that information may come at a commodious time, and as 
truth and interest are not by any fatal necessity at vari- 



JOHN DRYDEN. 223 

ance, that one may by accident introduce the other. 
When opinions are struggUng into popularity, the argu- 
ments by which they are opposed or defended become 
more known, and he that changes his profession would 
perhaps have changed it before, with the like opportuni- 
ties of instruction. This was then the state of popery ; 
every artifice was used to show it in its fairest form ; and 
it must be owned to be a religion of external appearance 
sufficiently attractive." 

As a result of this conversion we have the '* Hind and 
Panther," a poem of twenty-five hundred lines, which is 
devoted to the defence of the Roman Church. This 
church is represented by the "milk-white hind," and the 
Church of England by the panther, a beautiful but spotted 
animal. Published at a time of heated religious contro- 
versy, it had a wide circulation. It was regarded by 
Pope as the most correct specimen of Dryden's versifi- 
cation ; and there can be no doubt that the author, 
knowing it would be criticised with the most unfriendly 
rigor, elaborated it with unusual care. The opening lines 
are beautiful : — 

" A milk-white Hind, immortal and unchanged, 
Fed on the lawns, and in the forest ranged ; 
Without unspotted, innocent within. 
She feared no danger, for she knew no sin. 
Yet hath she oft been chased with horns and hounds 
And Scythian shafts, and many winged wounds 
Aimed at her heart ; was often forced to fly, 
And doomed to death, though fated not to die." 

At the Revolution Dryden did not abjure his faith, 
and, as a consequence, lost his office as poet laureate. 



224 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

In addition to the loss of his pension, which he could 

ill afford to suffer, he had the chagrin of seeing his 

rival, Shadwell, elevated to his place. Against him he 

wrote at this time one of his keenest satires, entitled 

''Mac Flecknoe." Flecknoe, who had governed long, 

and — 

"In prose and verse was owned, without dispute. 
Through all the realms of Nonsense, absolute," 

at length decides to settle the succession of the state, — 

" And, pondering, which of all his sons was fit 
To reign, and wage immortal war with wit, 
Cried, ' 'Tis resolved ; for nature pleads, that he 
Should only rule, who most resembles me. 
Shadwell alone my perfect image bears. 
Mature in dulness from his tender years : 
Shadwell alone, of all my sons, is he, 
Who stands confirmed in full stupidity. 
The rest to some faint meaning make pretence, 
But Shadwell never deviates into sense.' " 

Once more thrown upon his pen for support, Dryden 
turned to the stage, but chiefly to translation. In 1693 
he published a volume of miscellanies, which contained 
translations from Homer and Ovid ; and a little later 
appeared the satires of Juvenal and Persius. His theory 
of translation, as set forth in his prefaces, is better than 
his practice. He takes liberties with his author ; and, 
as was the case with him in all his writings, he is far 
from painstaking. Besides, instead of mitigating, he mag- 
nified their obscenity. But, upon the whole, the transla- 
tions are of high excellence. The most important of his 
translations was that of Virgil's **^neid," on which he 



JOHN DRYDEN. 225 

labored three years. The pubHc expectation was great, 
and it was not disappointed. Pope pronounced it " the 
most noble and spirited translation that I know in any 
language." 

Its form may be seen from the opening lines : — 

'• Arms, and the man I sing, who, forced by fate 
And haughty Juno's unrelenting hate. 
Expelled and exiled, left the Trojan shore. 
Long labors, both by sea and land, he bore, 
And in the doubtful war, before he won 
The Latin realm, and built the destined town, 
His banished gods restored to rites divine. 
And settled sure succession in his line. 
From whence the race of Alban fathers come 
And the long glories of majestic Rome." 

Dryden, without understanding the versification of 
Chaucer, admired his poetic beauties and translated sev- 
eral of the *' Canterbury Tales " into current English. '' As 
he is the father of English poetry," he says, '' so I hold 
him in the same degree of veneration as the Grecians held 
Homer or the Romans Virgil. He is a perpetual fountain 
of good sense, learned in all sciences, and therefore speaks 
properly on all subjects." It is to Dryden's credit that he 
chose those tales that do not savor of immodesty — " Pala- 
mon and Arcite," "The Cock and the Fox," and the 
"Wife of Bath's Tale," the prologue of which is omitted. 
Though his renderings into modern English are excellent, 
Chaucer's charm is somehow largely lost. To be con- 
vinced of this fact, it is only necessary to compare his ren- 
dering of the "Good Parson" with the original of the 

"Prologue." 
Q 



226 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

Among his songs and odes, the best known is " Alex- 
ander's Feast." He wrote it at a single sitting and 
afterward spent a fortnight in polishing it. It is justly 
considered one of the finest odes in our language. Dryden 
himself declared that it would never be surpassed. It was, 
perhaps, the last effort of his poetic genius, composed 
amid the pressing infirmities of age. It was fitting, to use 
the beautiful words of one of his heroes, that — 

" A setting sun 
Should leave a track of glory in the skies." 

He died May i, 1700, and was buried with imposing pomp 
in Westminster Abbey. 

Dryden's prose is scarcely less excellent than his verse. 
He wrote much on criticism in the form of prefaces in 
his various works. He avoided, as a rule, the common 
mistakes in the prose of his time — inordinately long sen- 
tences and tedious parenthetic clauses. He says he formed 
his prose style on Tillotson ; but Tillotson never had the 
ease, point, and brilliancy of Dryden. He was a clear, 
strong thinker, with a great deal to say ; and often com- 
pressing his thought into a few well-chosen words, he sent 
them forth like shots from a rifle. He delighted in argu- 
ment, and on either side of a question he could marshal 
his points with almost matchless skill. Whether attacking 
or defending the Roman Church, he showed equal power. 

Dryden did not attain to the highest regions of poetry. 
He could not portray what is deepest and finest in human 
experience. His strong, masculine hands were too clumsy. 
He has no charm of pathos ; he does not touch that part 
of our nature where " thoughts do often lie too deep for 



JOHN DRYDEN. 22/ 

tears." But he was a virile thinker and a master of the 
EngHsh tongue. He had the gift of using the right word ; 
and in the words of Lowell he *' sometimes carried com- 
mon-sense to a height where it catches the light of a 
diviner air, and warmed reason till it had well-nigh the illu- 
minating property of intuition." 

He made literature a trade. He wrote rapidly, and 
having once finished a piece, he did not, year after year, 
patiently retouch it into perfection. Perhaps he wrote too 
much. Voltaire said that he '' would have a glory without 
a blemish, if he had only written the tenth part of his 
works." Yet, in spite of his faults, we recognize and 
admire his extraordinary intellectual force and the indis- 
putable greatness of his literary work. At Will's Coffee- 
house, where his chair had in winter a prescriptive place 
by the fire, and in summer a choice spot on the balcony, 
he was fitted, beyond all others of his time, to reign as 
literary dictator. 

For the rest, we shall let Congreve speak — the poet 
whom Dryden implored '*to be kind to his remains," and 
who was not untouched by the appeal. '' Mr. Dryden," 
says his friend, '' had personal qualities to challenge both 
love and esteem from all who were truly acquainted with 
him. He was of a nature exceedingly humane and com- 
passionate, easily forgiving injuries, and capable of a 
prompt and sincere reconciliation with those who had 
offended him. Such a temperament is the only solid 
foundation of all moral virtues and sociable endowments. 
His friendship, when he professed it, went much beyond 
his professions, though his hereditary income was little 
more than a bare competency. As his reading had been 



228 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

extensive, so was he very happy in a memory tenacious of 
everything he read. He was not more possessed of know- 
ledge than communicative of it, but then his communica- 
tion of it was by no means pedantic, or imposed upon the 
conversation; but just such, and went so far, as by the 
natural turn of the discourse in which he was engaged, it 
was necessarily promoted or required. He was extremely 
ready and gentle in his correction of the errors of any 
writer who thought fit to consult him, and felt as ready and 
patient to admit of the reprehension of others in respect 
of his own oversight or mistakes. He was of very easy, I 
may say of very pleasing, access, but somewhat slow, and, 
as it were, diffident in his advances to others. He had 
something in his nature that abhorred intrusion into any 
society whatever : indeed, it is to be regretted that he was 
rather blamable in the other extreme ; for by that means 
he was personally less known, and consequently his char- 
acter will become liable to misapprehension and misrepre- 
sentation. To the best of my knowledge and observation, 
he was, of all men that ever I knew, one of the most 
modest and the most easily to be discountenanced in his 
approaches either to his superiors or his equals." 



1 



^ 




Engraved by Simon after the painting by Kneller. 



J-, jfc/^^^n^. 



JOSEPH ADDISON, 229 



JOSEPH ADDISON. 

There is no other writer in English literature of whom 
we think more kindly than of Joseph Addison. Macaulay 
has given very strong expression to the same sentiment. 
"After full inquiry and impartial reflection," he says, *'we 
have long been convinced that he deserved as much love 
and esteem as can be justly claimed by any of our infirm 
and erring race." 

We read his writings with a refined and soothing pleas- 
ure. They possess a genial humor and unvarying cheer- 
fulness that are contagious and delightful. There is no 
other writer who has greater power to dispel gloominess. 
As seen through his pages, the world appears wrapped in 
a mellow light. We learn to think more kindly of men, 
to smile at human foibles, to entertain ennobling senti- 
ments, to trust in an overruling providence. 

He does not indeed usually treat of the deeper interests 
of human life ; he is never profound ; he does not try to 
exhaust a subject — to write it to the dregs. His sphere 
is rather that of minor morals, social foibles, and small 
philosophy. But if he is not deep, he is not trifling ; and 
if he is not exhaustive, he is always interesting. He uses 
satire, but it is never cruel. It does not, like that of Swift, 
scatter desolation in its path. On the contrary, it is tem- 
pered with a large humanity, and like a gentle rain, dis- 
penses blessings in its course. It leads, not to cynicism, 
but to tenderness. 



230 ENGLISH LITERATURE, 

He enlisted wit on the side of virtue ; and by his inimi- 
table humor, good sense, genial satire, and simple piety, he 
wrought a great social reform. " So effectually, indeed," 
says Macaulay, *' did he retort on vice the mockery which 
had recently been directed against virtue, that, since his 
time, the open violation of decency has always been con- 
sidered amongst us the sure mark of a fool." 

Joseph Addison was born in Wiltshire in 1672, his 
father, a man of some eminence, being dean of Lichfield. 
Though there is a tradition that he once took a leading 
part in barring out his teacher, and on another occasion 
played truant, his youthful scholarship proves him to have 
been a diligent student. From the school at Lichfield he 
passed to Charter House. Here he made the friendship 
of Steele, which, as we shall see, was not without influence 
upon his subsequent career and fame. 

At the age of fifteen he entered Oxford with a scholar- 
ship far in advance of his years, attracted attention by his 
superior Latin verses, and was elected a scholar of Magda- 
len College, where he took his degree of Master of Arts 
in 1693. He was held in high regard for his ability and 
learning. His portrait now hangs in the college hall, and 
his favorite walk on the banks of the Cherwell is still 
pointed out. 

After writing a number of Latin poems, which secured 
the praise of the great French critic Boileau, he made his 
first attempt in English verse in some lines addressed to 
Dryden, at that time preeminent among men of letters. 
This maiden effort had the good fortune to please the 
great author and led to an interchange of civilities. 

At this time Addison's mind seemed inclined to poetry, 



JOSEPH ADDISON. 23 1 

and he published some lines to King William, a transla- 
tion of Virgil's fourth Georgia, and " An Account of the 
Greatest English Poets," all of which have but little to 
commend them except correct versification. The last 
poem is remarkable for having a discriminating criticism of 
Spenser, whose works the author at that time had not 
read. *' So little sometimes," comments Dr. Johnson, ** is 
criticism the effect of judgment." 

Addison was a moderate Whig in politics, and by his 
poems had conciliated the favor of Somers and Montague, 
afterward Earl of Halifax. In conformity with the wishes 
of his father and his own inclinations, he contemplated 
taking orders in the Anghcan Church ; but through the 
influence of Montague, who was unwilling to spare him to 
the church, he was led to prepare himself for the public 
service. 

He was granted a pension of three hundred pounds, 
and spent the next several years in travel on the Conti- 
nent, visiting France, Italy, Switzerland, Germany, and 
Holland. He improved his opportunities in perfecting 
his knowledge of the French language, in visiting locali- 
ties of historic interest, and in making the acquaintance 
of illustrious scholars and statesmen. His observations 
on the French people, as given in a letter to Montague, 
are worth reading : '' Truly, by what I have yet seen, they 
are the happiest nation in the world. 'Tis not in the 
power of want or slavery to make them miserable. There 
is nothing to be met with in the country but mirth and 
poverty. Every one sings, laughs, and starves. Their 
conversation is generally agreeable ; for if they have any 
wit or sense, they are sure to show it. They never mend 



232 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

upon a second meeting, but use all the freedom and famil- 
iarity at first sight that a long intimacy or abundance of 
wine can scarce draw from an Englishman. Their women 
are perfect mistresses in this art of showing themselves to 
the best advantage. They are always gay and sprightly, 
and set off the worst faces in Europe with the best airs." 
In general, his remarks upon the French character are 
not complimentary. 

The immediate literary fruits of his travels were a poeti- 
cal epistle to Lord Halifax, which ranks among his best 
verses, and '' Remarks on Italy," in which his observations 
are made to illustrate the Roman poets. In his " Letter 
to Lord Halifax " he gives expression to his delight and 
enthusiasm in finding himself in the midst of scenes 
associated with his favorite authors : — 

" Poetic fields encompass me around, 
And still I seem to tread on classic ground ; 
For here the Muse so oft her harp has strung, 
That not a mountain rears its head unsung ; 
Renowned in verse each shady thicket grows, 
And every stream in heavenly numbers flows." 

Here should be mentioned also one of his best hymns. 
While sailing along the Italian coast, he encountered a 
fierce storm. The captain of the ship lost all hope and 
confessed his sins to a Capuchin friar who happened to be 
on board. But the young English traveller solaced him- 
self with the reflections embodied in the famous hymn : — 

*' When all thy mercies, O my God, 
My rising soul surveys, 
Transported with the view Pm lost 
In wonder, love, and praise." 



JOSEPH ADDISON. 233 

Toward the close of 1703 Addison returned to England 
and was cordially received by his friends. He was enrolled 
at the Kit-Kat Club and thus brought into contact with the 
chief Hghts of the Whig party. The way was soon opened 
to a public office. 

The battle of Blenheim was fought in 1704, and Godol- 
phin, the Lord Treasurer, wished to have the great victory 
worthily celebrated in verse. He was referred by Halifax 
to Addison. The result was "The Campaign," which was 
received with extraordinary applause both by the minister 
and the public. Its chief merit is the rejection of extrava- 
gant fiction, according to which heroes are represented as 
mowing down whole squadrons with their single arm, and 
a recognition of those qualities — energy, sagacity, and 
coolness in the hour of danger — which made Marlborough 
really a great commander : — 

" 'Twas then great Marlbro's mighty soul was proved 
That, in the shock of charging hosts unmoved, 
Amidst confusion, horror, and despair, 
Examined all the dreadful scenes of war ; 
In peaceful thought the field of death surveyed, 
To fainting squadrons sent the timely aid. 
Inspired repulsed battalions to engage, 
And taught the doubtful battle where to rage. 
So when an angel by divine command 
With rising tempests shakes a guilty land. 
Such as of late o'er pale Britannia past, 
Calm and serene he drives the furious blast ; 
And. pleased the Almighty's orders to perform, 
Rides in the whirlwind, and directs the storm." 

This simile of the angel the 7^^//<?r pronounced "one of the 
noblest thoughts that ever entered into the heart of man." 



234 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

From this time on the career of Addison was a brilliant 
one. In 1704, in grateful recognition of his poem, he re- 
ceived the Excise Commissionership, made vacant by the 
death of the celebrated John Locke. In 1706 he became 
one of the Under-Secretaries of State ; and two years later 
he entered Parliament, where, however, his natural timidity 
kept him from participating in the debates. In 1709 he 
was appointed Chief Secretary for Ireland ; and, while re- 
siding in that country, he entered upon that department of 
literature on which his fame chiefly rests, and in which 
he stands without a rival. 

Shortly after Steele began the Tatlerm 1709, he invited 
Addison's aid as a contributor. The result may be best 
expressed in Steele's own words : " I fared," he said, *' like 
a distressed prince who calls in a powerful neighbor to his 
aid. I was undone by my auxiliary. When I had once 
called him in, I could not subsist without dependence on 
him." The Tatler v^2is published three times a week, and, 
after reaching two hundred and seventy-one numbers, was 
discontinued Jan. 2, 171 1. 

It was succeeded by the Spectator^ which appeared six 
times a week. The first number was issued March i, 171 1, 
— two months after the discontinuance of the Tatler. It 
was considered at the time a bold undertaking ; but the 
result more than justified the confidence of Steele and 
Addison, its promoters. 

It is made up of an incomparable series of short essays, 
which have all the interest of fiction and the value of phi- 
losophy. They are represented as the productions of an 
imaginary spectator of the world, a description of whom 
in the first paper we recognize as a caricature of Addison 






I 



JOSEPH ADDISON. 235 

himself. **Thus I live in the world," tt is said, "rather as 
a spectator of mankind than as one of the species, by 
which means I have made myself a speculative statesman, 
soldier, merchant, and artisan, without ever meddling with 
any practical part in life. I am very well versed in the 
theory of a husband or a father, and can discern the 
errors in the economy, business, and diversions of others, 
better than those who are engaged in them ; as stand- 
ers-by discover blots, which are apt to escape those who 
are in the game. I never espoused any party with vio- 
lence, and am resolved to observe an exact neutrality 
between the Whigs and Tories, unless I shall be forced 
to declare myself by the hostilities of either side. In 
short, I have acted in all the parts of my life as a 
looker-on, which is the character I intend to preserve in 
this paper." 

The plan, it must be perceived, is excellent. Addison 
wrote about three-sevenths of the six hundred and thirty- 
five numbers. He poured into them all the wealth of his 
learning, observation, and genius. The variety is almost 
endless, but the purpose is always moral. He is a great 
teacher without being pedantic. His wholesome lessons 
are so seasoned with playful humor, gentle satire, and 
honest amiability that they encounter no resistance. Vice 
becomes ridiculous and virtue admirable. And his style 
is so easy, graceful, perspicuous, elegant, that it must re- 
main a model for all time. '' Give days and nights, sir," 
said the blunt Dr. Johnson, " to the study of Addison, if 
you mean to be a good writer, or what is more worth, an 
honest man." 

The following paragraph from the Sir Roger de Cover- 



236 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

ley papers — a famous and delightful series in the Specta- 
tor — describes the Knight at Church : — 

" As Sir Roger is landlord to the whole congregation, 
he keeps them in very good order and will suffer nobody 
to sleep in it besides himself ; for if by chance he has 
been surprised into a short nap at sermon, upon recover- 
ing out of it he stands up and looks about him, and if he 
sees anybody else nodding, either wakes them himself, or 
sends his servant to them. Several other of the old 
knight's particularities break out upon these occasions. 
Sometimes he will be lengthening out a verse in the sing- 
ing psalms, half a minute after the rest of the congrega- 
tion have done with it ; sometimes, when he is pleased 
with the matter of his devotion, he pronounces Amen 
three or four times to the same prayer, and sometimes 
stands up when everybody else is upon their knees, to 
count the congregation, or see if any of his tenants are 
missing." 

The Spectator created a large constituency, and every 
number was eagerly waited for. It found a welcome in 
the coffee-houses and at many a breakfast-table. Its daily 
circulation was more than three thousand ; and when the 
essays were published in book form, ten thousand copies 
of each volume were immediately called for, and successive 
editions were necessary to supply the popular demand. 

In 1713 appeared Addison's tragedy of " Cato," the first 
four acts of which had been written years before in Italy. 
It was only at the urgent solicitation of his friends that he 
consented to its representation on the stage. Its success 
was astonishing. For a month it was played before 
crowded houses. Whigs and Tories vied with each other 



JOSEPH ADDISON. 237 

in its praise, applying its incidents and sentiments to cur- 
rent politics. '* The Whigs applauded every line in which 
liberty was mentioned, as a satire on the Tories ; and the 
Tories echoed every clap, to show that the satire was un- 
felt." It was translated into Italian and acted at Florence. 

On its publication, however, its popularity began to 
abate. It was savagely attacked by Dennis. Addison 
was too amiable to write a reply. Pope, however, assailed 
the furious critic, but left the objections to the play in full 
force. It is probable that he was more desirous of scourg- 
ing Dennis t'han of vindicating Addison. At all events, 
Addison did not approve of the bitterness of Pope's reply, 
disclaimed all responsibility for it, and caused Dennis to 
be informed that whenever he thought fit to answer, he 
would do it in the manner of a gentleman. Of course 
Pope was mortified ; and it is to this transaction that his 
dislike of Addison is probably to be traced. • 

" Cato " conforms to the classic unities and abounds in 
noble sentiment. But it is lacking in high poetic or 
dramatic interest. A scene in the fifth act, which repre- 
sents Cato alone, sitting in a thoughtful posture with 
Plato's ''Immortality of the Soul" in his hand, and a 
drawn sword on the table by him, is well known : — 

"It must be so — Plato, thou reason'st well ! — 
Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire, 
This longing after immortality ? 
Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror, 
Of falling into nought ? why shrinks the soul 
Back on herself, and startles at destruction ? 
'Tis the divinity that stirs within us ; 
'Tis heaven itself, that points out an hereafter, 
And intimates eternity to man. 



238 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

Eternity ! thou pleasing, dreadful thought ! 

Through what variety of untried being, 

Through what new scenes and changes must we pass ? 

The wide, th^ unbounded prospect lies before me ; 

But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it. 

Here will I hold. If there's a power above us, 

(And that there is all nature cries aloud 

Through all her works.) he must delight in virtue ; 

And that which he delights in, must be happy. 

But when ! or where ! — This w^orld was made for Cassar. 

Tm weary of conjectures. — This must end them. 

{Laying his hand on his sword. '\ 
Thus am I doubly armed ; my death and life, 
My bane and antidote are both before me : 
This in a moment brings me to an end ; 
But this informs me I shall never die. 
The soul, secured in her existence, smiles 
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point. 
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself 
Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years ; 
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth. 
Unhurt amidst the wars of elements, 
The wrecks of matter, and the crush of worlds." 

In 1 716, after a long courtship, Addison married Lady 
Warwick. She was a woman of much beauty, but also of 
proud and imperious temper. The marriage, it seems, did 
not add to his happiness. According to Dr. Johnson, 
the lady married him '' on terms much like those on which 
a Turkish princess is espoused, to whom the Sultan is 
reported to pronounce, ' Daughter, I give thee this man 
for thy slave.' " His domestic infelicity caused him to 
seek more frequently the pleasures of the coffee-house. 
His fondness for wine likewise increased. 

The year after , his marriage he reached the summit of 



JOSEPH ADDISON. 239 

his political career as Secretary of State. But his health 
soon failed ; and after holding office for eleven months, 
he resigned on a pension of fifteen hundred pounds. His 
complaint ended in dropsy. A shadow was cast over the 
last years of his Hfe by a quarrel with Steele, arising from 
a difference of political views. He died June 17, 1719. 
His last moments were perfectly serene. To his stepson 
he said, ''See how a Christian can die." His piety was 
sincere and deep. All nature spoke to him of God ; and 
the Psalmist's declaration that '* the heavens declare the 
glory of God," he wrought into a magnificent hymn : — 

" The spacious firmament on high, 
With all the blue ethereal sky, 
And spangled heavens, a shining frame, 
Their great Original proclaim." 

Speaking of this hymn, Thackeray says : " It seems to 
me those verses shine Hke the stars. They shine out of a 
great deep calm. When he turns to Heaven, a Sabbath 
comes over that man's mind ; and his face lights up from 
it with a glory of thanks and prayer. His sense of 
religion stirs through his whole being. In the fields, in 
the town ; looking at the birds in the trees ; at the chil- 
dren in the streets ; in the morning or in the moonlight ; 
over his books in his own room ; in a happy party at a 
country merry-making or a town assembly : good-will and 
peace to God's creatures, and love and awe of Him who 
made them, fill his pure heart and shine from his kind 
face. If Swift's life was the most wretched, I think 
Addison's was one of the most enviable. A life prosper- 
ous and beautiful — a calm death — an immense fame and 
affection afterward for his happy and spotless name." 



240 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



ALEXANDER POPE. 

The greatest literary character of this period is Alex- 
ander Pope. In his life we find much to admire and 
much to condemn; but we cannot deny him the tribute of 
greatness. With his spiteful temper and habitual artifice, 
we can have no sympathy ; but we recognize in him the 
power of an indomitable will supported by genius and 
directed to a single object. 

He triumphed over the most adverse circumstances. A 
lowly birth cut him off from social position ; his Roman 
Catholic faith brought political ostracism ; and a dwarfed, 
sickly, deformed body excluded him from the vocations 
in which wealth and fame are usually acquired. Yet, in 
spite of this combination of hostile circumstances, he 
achieved the highest literary distinction, attracted to him 
the most eminent men of his day, and associated on terms 
of equality with the proudest nobility. 

Alexander Pope was born in London in 1688, the 
memorable year of the Revolution. His father, a Roman 
Catholic, was a linen merchant ; and shortly after th^ 
poet's birth he retired with a competent fortune to a 
small estate at Binfield in Windsor Forest. 

Though delicate and deformed, the future poet is repre- 
sented as having been a sweet-tempered child ; and his 
voice was so agreeable that he was playfully called the 
"little nightingale." Excluded from the public schools 




Engruvi'd hy J. Stow aittT tlif panitniLj; iiy A. Pond. 




ALEXANDER POPE. 24 1 

on account of his father's faith, he passed successively 
under the tuition of three or four Roman priests, from 
whom he learned the rudiments of Latin and Greek. In 
after years he thought it no disadvantage that his educa- 
tion had been irregular ; for, as he observed, he read the 
classic authors, not for the zvords but for the sense. 

At the age of twelve he formed a plan of study for him- 
self, and plunged into the delights of miscellaneous read- 
ing with such ardor that he came near putting an end to 
his life. While dipping into philosophy, theology, and 
history, he delighted most in poetry and criticism ; and 
either in the original or in translations (for he read what 
was easiest) he familiarized himself with the leading poets 
and critics of ancient and modern times. But in the strict 
sense of the term he never became a scholar. Seeing all 
other avenues of life closed to him, he early resolved to 
devote himself to poetry, to which no doubt he felt the 
intuitive impulse of genius. He showed remarkable pre- 
cocity in rhyme. In his own language, — 

" As yet a child, nor yet a fool to fame, 
I lisped in numbers, for the numbers came." 

He was encouraged in his early attempts by his father, 
who assigned him subjects, required frequent revisions, 
and ended with the encouragement, " These are good 
rhymes." Before venturing before the public as an au- 
thor, he served a long and remarkable apprenticeship to 
poetry. Whenever a passage in any foreign author pleased 
him, he turned it into English verse. Before the age of 
fifteen he composed an epic of four thousand lines, in 
which he endeavored, in different passages, to imitate the 



242 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

beauties of Milton, Cowley, Spenser, Statins, Homer, Vir- 
gil, Ovid, and Claudian. " My first taking to imitating," 
he says, " was not out of vanity, but humility. I saw how 
defective my own things were, and endeavored to mend 
my manner by copying good strokes from others." 

Among English authors he fixed upon Dryden as his 
model, for whom he felt so great a veneration that he per- 
suaded some friends to take him to the coffee-house fre- 
quented by that distinguished poet. " Who does not wish," 
asks Johnson, " that Dryden could have known the value 
of the homage that was paid him and foreseen the great- 
ness of his young admirer '^. " 

His earliest patron, if such he may be called, was Sir 
William Trumbull, who, after serving as ambassador at 
Constantinople under James H., and as Secretary of State 
under William IH., had withdrawn from public service 
and fixed his residence in the neighborhood of Binfield. 
The extraordinary precocity of the youthful poet delighted 
the aged statesman, who was accustomed to ride and dis- 
cuss the classics with him. It was from him that Pope 
received the first suggestion to translate the *' Iliad." 

Another acquaintance belonging to this youthful period 
was William Walsh, a Worcestershire gentleman of for- 
tune, who had some reputation at the time as a poet and 
critic. From him the ambitious youth received a bit of 
advice which has become famous. " We have had several 
great poets," he said, "but we have never had one great 
poet who was correct ; and I advise you to make that your 
study and aim." This advice Pope evidently laid to heart. 

At this time he made also the acquaintance of Wycherly, 
whose store of literary anecdote about a past generation 



ALEXANDER POPE. 243 

greatly entertained him. Unfortunately, however, his as- 
sistance was asked in revising some of Wycherly's verses ; 
and this task he performed with so much conscientious- 
ness and ability — cutting out here and adding there — 
that the aged author was mortified and offended. 

At the age of sixteen Pope circulated some " Pastorals," 
which were pronounced equal to anything Virgil had pro- 
duced at the same age. Before he had passed his teens 
he was recognized as the most promising writer of his 
time and was courted by the leading wits and people of 
fashion. 

The first great work that Pope produced was the "Essay 
on Criticism," which was pubhshed in 171 1. It was writ- 
ten two years previously, when the author was but twenty- 
one years of age. As was his custom with all his writings, 
he kept it by him in order to revise and polish it. 

It shows a critical power and soundness of judgment 
that usually belong only to age and experience. It is true 
that the critical principles he lays down are not original or 
novel. At this time Pope had' his head full of critical lit- 
erature. Horace's " Ars Poetica" and Boileau's " L'Art 
Poetique " were perfectly familiar to him, to say nothing 
of Quintilian and Aristotle. He embodied in his poem 
the principles he found in his authorities. But he did this 
with such felicity of expression and aptness of illustration 
as to win the admiration, not only of his contemporaries, 
but also of succeeding generations. 

''One would scarcely ask," says Leslie Stephen, ''for 
originality in such a case, any more than one would desire 
a writer on ethics to invent new laws of morality. We 
require neither Pope nor Aristotle to tell us that critics 



244 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

should not be pert nor prejudiced ; that fancy should be 
regulated by judgment; that apparent facility comes by 
long training ; that the sound should have some con- 
formity to the meaning ; that genius is often envied ; 
and that dulness is frequently beyond the reach of re- 
proof. We might even guess, without the authority of 
Pope, backed by Bacon, that there are some beauties 
which cannot be taught by method, but must be reached 
'by a kind of felicity.'" Yet these commonplaces of 
criticism Pope has presented in inimitable form, ex- 
emplifying one of his own couplets : — 

" True wit is nature to advantage dressed ; 
What oft was thought, but ne'er so well expressed." 

The '' Essay " is full of felicitous statements that in- 
stantly command the assent of the judgment and fix 
themselves in the memory. Some of the lines are in 
daily use. Who has not heard that — 

"To err is human; to forgive, divine." 

And also — 

"For fools rush in where angels fear to tread." 

By the poet's striking presentation we are sometimes 
tempted to accept error for truth, as when he tell us : — 

"A little learning is a dangerous thing! 
Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring." 

His own lines often furnish a happy exemplification of 
his maxims. He tells us, for instance : — 

" ^Tis not enough no harshness gives offence, 
The sound must seem an echo to the sense." 



\ 



ALEXANDER POPE. 245 

Then, by way of illustration, he continues : — 

" Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows, 
And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows ; 
But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, 
The hoarse, rough verse should like the torrent roar. 
When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw, 
The line, too, labors, and the words move slow; 
Not so when swift Camilla scours the plain. 
Flies o'er th' unbending corn, and skims along the main." 

But the poem is not without its faults. It would be too 
much to expect that ; for, as he says : — 

" Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see. 
Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be." 

Its extreme conciseness renders it obscure in places ; 
words are sometimes used in a vague and variable sense ; 
and there is a noticeable poverty of rhymes, "wit" and 
"sense" and "fools" being badly overworked. Yet, if 
he had written nothing else, this production alone would 
have given him a high rank as critic and poet. 

The publication of the "Essay" was the beginning of a 
ceaseless strife with contemporary writers. In the follow- 
ing lines the youthful poet had the temerity to attack 
Dennis, whose acquaintance we made in the sketch of 
Addison : — 

" But Appius reddens at each word you speak. 
And stares tremendous with a threatening eye, 
Like some fierce tyrant in old tapestry." 

This graphic picture inflamed the belligerent Dennis, 
and he made a bitter personal attack upon Pope, of 
whom, among other savage things, he says : " He may 



246 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

extol the ancients, but he has reason to thank the gods 
that he was born a modern ; for had he been of Grecian 
parents, and his father consequently had by law had the 
absolute disposal of him, his life had been no longer than 
that of one of his poems — the life of half a day." 

Though Pope affected to despise these atta:cks, yet his 
sensitive nature was deeply wounded by them. To some 
friends he remarked, when one of Gibber's pamphlets 
came into his hand, '' These things are my diversion." 
But they noticed that his features, as he read, writhed with 
anguish ; and when alone one of them expressed the hope 
that he might be preserved from such diversion as had 
been that day the lot of Pope. But, as we shall see, his 
revenge was terrific. 

The next important production of Pope was " The Rape 
of the Lock," published in 171 2. It is the most brilliant 
mock-heroic poem ever written. The subject is trifling 
enough. Lord Petre, a man of fashion at the court of 
Queen Anne, playfully cut off a lock of hair from the 
head of Miss Arabella Fermor, a beautiful maid of honor. 
This freedom was resented by the lady, and the friendly 
intercourse of the two families was interrupted. To put 
the two parties into good humor, and thus to effect a 
reconciliation, Pope devised this humorous epic. Sylphs, 
gnomes, nymphs, and salamanders form a part of the deli- 
cate poetic machinery. Here is a description of the un- 
fortunate lock : — 

"This nymph, to the destruction of mankind, 
Nourished two locks, which graceful hung behind 
In equal curls, and well conspired to deck 
With shining ringlets the smooth ivVy neck. 



ALEXANDER POPE. 247 

Love in these labyrinths his slaves detains, 
And mighty hearts are held in slender chains. 
With hairy springes we the birds betray ; 
Slight lines of hair surprise the finny prey ; 
Fair tresses man's imperial race ensnare, 
And beauty draws us with a single hair." 

Speaking of the trifling circumstances that gave rise to 
this poem, Roscoe says : " To Cowley it might have sug- 
gested some quaint witticisms or forced allusions ; to Waller 
or SuckHng, a metaphysical song ; Dryden would have 
celebrated it in some strong lines, remarkable for their 
poetical spirit and perhaps not less so for their indelicacy ; 
while, by the general tribe of poets, it never could have 
been extended further than to a sweet epigram or a frigid 
sonnet. What is it in the hands of Pope } An animated 
and moving picture of human life and manners ; a lively 
representation of the whims and follies of the times ; an 
important contest, in which we find ourselves deeply en- 
gaged ; for the interest is so supported, the manner so ludi- 
crously serious, the characters so marked and distinguished, 
the resentment of the heroine so natural, and the triumph 
of the conqueror so complete, that we unavoidably partake 
the emotions of the parties and alternately sympathize, 
approve, or condemn." 

In 1 71 3 Pope undertook the translation of Homer's 
"Iliad." The work was published by subscription; and 
as he had already gained recognition as the first poet of 
his time, the enterprise met with generous encouragement. 
Among other influential friends. Swift was active in secur- 
ing subscriptions. At first the poet was appalled at the 
magnitude of his undertaking, and wished, to use his own 



248 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

phrase, that somebody would hang him. But facihty in- 
creased with practice ; and his defective knowledge of 
Greek was remedied by the use of translations and the aid 
of scholarly friends. 

This translation, in connection with the " Odyssey," was 
his principal labor for twelve years, and it brought a re- 
muneration that had never before been realized by an 
English author. He received altogether about eight thou- 
sand pounds, which furnished him with a competency the 
rest of his life. The translation is wrought out with ex- 
ceeding care ; but in its artificial character, it is far from 
reproducing the simplicity of the original. It brings 
Homer before us in a dress-suit. Bentley's criticism was 
exactly to the point : " It is a pretty poem, Mr. Pope, but 
you must not call it Homer." Yet it is a wonderful 
work ; and Johnson was not far wrong when he said, 
" It is certainly the noblest version of poetry which the 
world has ever seen, and its publication must therefore be 
considered as one of the great events in the annals of 
learnino:." 

In the sketch of Addison reference was made to the ill- 
feeling existing between the illustrious essayist and Pope. 
It came to an open rupture in connection with the publica- 
tion of the *' Iliad." Tickell, a friend of Addison's, under- 
took a rival translation. He had Addison's encouragement 
and perhaps also his assistance. It is possible that the 
essayist felt some jealousy of the rising reputation of the 
poet, and used his influence, in a civil way, to depreciate 
the latter's work. At all events, news of this sort came to 
Pope; and "the next day," he says, ''while I was heated 
with what I had heard, I wrote a letter to Mr. Addison, to 






ALEXANDER POPE. 249 

let him know that I was not unacquainted with this be- 
havior of his ; that if I was to speak severely of him, 
in return for it, it should not be in such a dirty way ; that 
I should rather tell him, himself, fairly of his faults, and 
allow his good qualities ; and that it should be something 
in the following manner." He then added what has since 
become the famous satire on Addison, in which the lack of 
justice is made up by brilliancy of wit : — 

" Peace to all such ; but were there one whose fires 
True genius kindles and fair fame inspires ; 
Blest with each talent and each art to please, 
And born to write, converse, and live with ease ; 
Should such a man, too fond to rule alone. 
Bear like the Turk no brother near the throne, 
View him with scornful yet with jealous eyes, 
And hate for arts that caused himself to rise, 
Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer, 
And, without sneering, teach the rest to sneer ; 
Willing to wound and yet afraid to strike. 
Just hint a fault and hesitate dislike. 
Alike reserved to blame or to commend, 
A timorous foe and a suspicious friend ; 
Dreading e'en fools, by flatterers besieged, 
And so obliging that he ne'er obliged ; 
Like Cato give his little Senate laws, 
And sit attentive to his own applause. 
While wits and templars every sentence raise, 
And wonder with a foolisll face of praise ; — 
Who but must laugh if such a man there be ? 
Who would not weep if Atticus were he ? " 

After becoming independent from the proceeds of his 
Homeric translations. Pope removed to the villa of Twick- 
enham, where he spent the remainder of his life. Here 



250 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

he received his friends, who were among the most pol- 
ished men of the time. Gay, Arbuthnot, BoUngbroke, 
Peterborough, Swift, were all warmly attached to him — 
"the most brilliant company of friends," says Thackeray, 
''that the world has ever seen." 

We should not forget the filial piety he showed his par- 
ents — one of the most beautiful features of the poet's life. 
However spiteful, acrimonious, and exacting toward others, 
to his mother he was always tender, considerate, patient. 
In her old age he stayed by her, denying himself the 
pleasure of long visits and foreign travel. While conven- 
tionally courteous and formal in his relations to other 
women, for whom, after the fashion of the time, he 
seemed to entertain no high opinion, he was simple and 
unaffected toward her. And when she died, he spoke of 
her with peculiar tenderness : " I thank God, her death 
was as easy as her life was innocent ; and as it cost her not 
a groan, or even a sigh, there is yet upon her countenance 
such an expression of tranquillity, nay, almost of pleasure, 
that it is even enviable to behold it. It would afford the 
finest image of a saint expired that ever painter drew." 

As soon as Homer was off his hands, he proceeded to 
get even with the critics who had attacked his previous 
writings. The result was the ''Dunciad," the most elabo- 
rate satirical performance in our language, which was given 
to the public in 1728. 

We cannot think that, as he claims, his object was " do- 
ing good" by exposing ignorant and pretentious authors; 
from what we know of his character, we are justified in 
supposing that personal pique animated him no less than 
zeal for the honor of literature. Theobald, whose grievous 



ALEXANDER POPE. 25 I 

offence was surpassing Pope in editing Shakespeare, is 
elevated to the throne of Dulness, though he is afterward 
deposed to make place for Gibber. 

" On the day the book was first vended," Pope tells us, 
**a crowd of authors besieged the shop; entreaties, ad-' 
vices, threats of law and battery, nay, cries of treason, 
were all employed to hinder the coming out of the ' Dun- 
ciad ' ; on the other side, the booksellers and hawkers 
made as great efforts to procure it. What could a few 
poor authors do against so great a majority as the public.'* 
There was no stopping a torrent with a finger, so out it 
came." 

The satire had the desired effect ; it blasted the charac- 
ters it touched. One of the victims complained that for 
a time he was in danger of starving, as the publishers had 
no longer any confidence in his ability. The poem is not 
interesting as a whole, but contains many splendid flights, 
as in the concluding lines, which describe the eclipse of 
learning and morality under the darkening reign of ad- 
vancing Dulness : — 

'■' She comes ! she comes ! the sable throne behold 
Of Night primeval, and of Chaos old ! 
Before her Fancy's gilded clouds decay, 
And all its varying rainbows die away. 
Wit shoots in vain its momentary fires, 
The meteor drops, and in a flash expires. 
As one by one, at dread Medea's strain, 
The sickening stars fade off th' ethereal plain ; 
As Argus' eyes, by Hermes' wand oppressed, 
Closed one by one to everlasting rest ; 
Thus at her felt approach, and secret might, 
Art after art goes out, and all is night ; 



252 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

See skulking Truth to her old cavern fled, 
Mountains of casuistry heap'd o'er her head ! 
Philosophy, that leanM on Heaven before, 
Shrinks to her second cause, and is no more. 
Physic of Metaphysic begs defence, 
And Metaphysic calls for aid on Sense ! 
See Mystery to Mathematics fly ! 
In vain, they gaze, turn giddy, rave, and die. 
Religion, blushing, veils her sacred fires. 
And unawares Morality expires. 
Nor public flame, nor private dares to shine ; 
Nor human spark is left, nor glimpse divine. 
Lo, thy dread empire, Chaos ! is restored ; 
Light dies before thy uncreating word : 
Thy hand, great Anarch, lets the curtain fall. 
And universal darkness buries all." 

This is, indeed, a fine passage, repaying careful study ; 
but it hardly deserves the extravagant praise bestowed 
upon it by Thackeray. " In these astonishing lines," he 
says, " Pope reaches, I think, to the very greatest height 
which his sublime art has attained, and shows himself the 
equal of all poets of all times. It is the brightest ardor, 
the loftiest assertion of truth, the most generous wisdom, 
illustrated by the noblest poetic figure, and spoken in words 
the aptest, grandest, and most harmonious. It is heroic 
courage speaking ; a splendid declaration of righteous 
wrath and war. It is the gage flung down, and the silver 
trumpet ringing defiance to falsehood and tyranny, deceit, 
dulness, superstition." 

The " Essay on Man," his noblest work, appeared in 
1733. It consists of four "Epistles": the first treats of 
man in relation to the universe ; the second, in relation to 
himself ; the third, in relation to society ; and the fourth, 



ALEXANDER POPE. 253 

in relation to happiness. The " Epistles " are addressed 
to Bolingbroke, by whom the " Essay " was suggested, and 
from whom many of its principles proceeded. It is not so 
much a treatise on man as on the moral government of the 
world. Its general purpose is to — 

"Vindicate the ways of God to man." 

This is done by an application of the principles of natu- 
ral religion to the origin of evil, the wisdom of the Creator, 
and the constitution of the world. But, as a whole, the 
*' Essay " does not present a consistent and logical system 
of teaching. Pope was not master of the deep theme he 
had undertaken ; and he was content to pick up in various 
authors whatever he could fit into his general plan. On 
the one hand he was attacked for having written against 
religion. Certainly moral responsibility disappears if we 
accept his declaration : — 

'• One truth is clear ; whatever is, is right." 

On the other hand, Warburton came forward to defend 
his orthodoxy ; and his championship was gratefully ac- 
cepted by the poet. " You have made my system," Pope 
wrote to him, " as clear as I ought to have done, and could 
not. ... I know I meant just what you explain, but I 
did not explain my own meaning as well as you. You un- 
derstand me as well as I do myself, but you express me 
better than I could express myself." 

When, however, we turn from the whole to the separate 
parts, we are astonished at the marvellous expression and 
inimitable form. We may call it, with Dugald Stewart, 
'' the noblest specimen of philosophical poetry which our 



2 54 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

language affords." Single truths have never had more 
splendid statement. Here is his amplification of the truth 
that all things exist in God : — 

" All are but parts of one stupendous whole, 
Whose body Nature is, and God the soul ; 
That, changed through all, and yet in all the same, 
Great in the earth, as in th' ethereal frame, 
Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze, 
Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees ; 
Lives through all life, extends through all extent. 
Spreads undivided, operates unspent ; 
Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part. 
As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart ; 
As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns. 
As the rapt seraph that adores and burns : 
To him no high, no low, no great, no small ; 
He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all." 

The religion of nature, as seen in the savage, has never 
had better expression than this : — 

" Lo, the poor Indian ! whose untutor'd mind 
Sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind ; 
His soul proud science never taught to stray 
Far as the solar walk, or milky way ; 
Yet simple nature to his hope has given. 
Behind the cloud-topp'd hill an humbler heaven ; 
Some safer world in depth of woods embraced, 
Some happier island in the watery waste. 
Where slaves once more their native land behold. 
No fiends torment, no Christians thirst for gold. 
To be contents* his natural desire. 
He asks no angel's wings, no seraph's fire ; 
But thinks, admitted to that equal sky. 
His faithful dog shall bear him company." 



I 



ALEXANDER POPE. 255 

Pope died in 1744. A few days before his death he be- 
came delirious. On recovering his rationaUty, he referred 
to his delirium as a sufficient; humiUation of the vanity of 
man. Bolingbroke was told that during his last illness 
Pope was always saying something kind of his present or 
absent friends, and that his humanity seemed to have sur- 
vived his understanding. ''It has so," replied the states- 
man ; " and I never in my life knew a man that had so 
tender a heart for his particular friends, or more general 
friendship for mankind." 

As the end drew near, Pope was asked whether a priest 
should not be called. He replied, " I do not think it es- 
sential, but it will be very right ; and I thank you for put- 
ting me in mind of it." He had undoubting confidence in 
a future state. Shortly after receiving the sacrament, he 
said : " There is nothing that is meritorious but virtue and 
friendship, and indeed friendship itself is only a part of 
virtue." He lies buried at Twickenham. 

In appearance* he was the most insignificant of English 
writers. He was a dwarf, four feet high, hunch-backed, 
and so crooked that he was called the " Interrogation 
Point." His life was one long disease. He required help 
in dressing and undressing ; and to keep erect, he had to 
encase his body in stays. Extremely sensitive to cold, he 
wore three or four times the usual amount of clothing. 
But his face was pleasing, his voice agreeable, and his 
eyes especially were beautiful and expressive. He was 
fastidious in dress and elegant in manner. As might 
naturally be expected, he was punctilious and trouble- 
some, requiring so much attention that he was the dread 
of servants. Fond of highly seasoned dishes, and unable 



256 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

to control his appetite, he frequently made himself sick 
by overeating. 

He was singularly lacking in manly frankness, seek- 
ing always to attain his ends by artifice. It was said 
of him that he hardly drank tea without stratagem ; 
and Lady Bolingbroke used to say that " he played 
the politician about cabbages and turnips." But he car- 
ried his artifice to higher matters and manipulated his 
correspondence and his writings in the interest of his 
reputation. 

His character was full of contradictions. While pro- 
fessing to disregard fame, he courted it ; while affecting 
superiority to the great, he took pleasure in enumerating 
the men of high rank among his acquaintances ; while 
appearing indifferent to his own poetry, saying that he 
wrote when "he just had nothing else to do," he was 
always revolving some poetical scheme in his head, so 
that, as Swift complained, he was never at leisure for 
conversation ; and while pretending insensibility to cen- 
sure, he writhed under the attacks of critics. Yet it is 
to his credit that he never put up his genius to the 
highest bidder, and that he never indulged in base flattery 
for selfish ends. His translation of the "Iliad" he dedi- 
cated, not to influential statesmen or titled nobility, but to 
the second-rate dramatist, Congreve. In his view of life 
he fixed his attention upon its petty features, forgetting 
the divine and eternal relations that give it dignity and 
worth. There is truth in the following lines, but it is 
only one-sided : — 

" Behold the child, by nature's kindly law, 
Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw : 



ALEXANDER POPE. 2^7 

Some livelier plaything gives his youth delight, 
A little louder, but as empty quite ; 
Scarfs, garters, gold, amuse his riper age, 
And beads and prayer-books are the toys of age ; 
Pleased with this bauble still, as that before, 
Till tired he sleeps, and lifers poor play is o'er." 

Virtue, love, divine stewardship, and eternal life take 
away this pettiness and give our existence here beauty 
and grandeur. 

As a poet, it is too much to claim that his verses at- 
tained the highest imaginative flights, such as we find in 
Shakespeare and Tennyson. He was not swayed by the 
fine frenzy, the overmastering convictions, and the tor- 
menting passions that irresistibly force an utterance. He 
conformed his writings to a conventional form. He sought 
above all, in imitation of classical models, correctness of 
style. And, in the words of James Russell Lowell, "in 
his own province he still stands unapproachably alone. If 
to be the greatest satirist of individual men, rather than 
of human nature, if to be the highest expression which 
the life of the court and the ballroom has ever found in 
verse, if to have added more phrases to our language than 
any other but Shakespeare, if to have charmed four gen- 
erations, make a man a great poet — then he is one. He 
was the chief founder of an artificial style of writing, 
which in his hands was living and powerful, because he 
used it to express artificial modes of thinking and an 
artificial state of society. Measured by any high stand- 
ard of imagination, he will be found wanting; tried by 
the test of wit, he is unrivalled." 



258 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



JONATHAN SWIFT. 

Of Swift as a writer there can hardly be more than one 
opinion. In originaUty and power he excelled all the 
writers of his day. His genius expressed itself in new 
and imperishable forms ; and though much that he has 
written, especially in verse, is unworthy of him, his ''Tale 
of a Tub," his ** Gulliver's Travels," and his ''Journal to 
Stella " will endure as long as the English language itself. 
No one else was more dreaded as an antagonist. " We 
were determined to have you on our side," the Tory leader 
Bolingbroke said to him ; " you were the only one we were 
afraid of." During the last years of Queen Anne's reign 
he was the chief literary support of the Tory administra- 
tion ; and more than any one else, it has been said, he 
formed the political opinions of the English nation. 

But of Swift as a man it is not easy to form a satis- 
factory estimate. His character exhibited contradictory 
qualities. In spite of the labors of numerous biographers 
and critics, he still, in some measure, remains an enigma. 
He was not a model of amiable temper or lofty purpose, 
and his career is full of striking and unpardonable faults. 
Yet that he was a monster of selfishness, hatred, and 
iniquity, as some have maintained, we cannot believe. He 
had the clear vision of a powerful mind. He saw through 
the shams and hypocrisies by which he was surrounded ; 
and what has often been taken for heartless misanthropy 




After the painting by Bindon. 



c^. ^^vM: 5^ 



1 



JONATHAN SWIFT. 259 

was in reality an honest heroism which waged a thank- 
less war on humbug and villainy. That he often went 
too far, that he was often coarse and terrible, cannot be 
denied or condoned. In his later years real or fancied 
wrongs goaded his proud, imperious nature into reckless 
fury. 

Jonathan Swift was born in Dublin in 1667, though his 
parents were English. Owing to the death of his father, 
his childhood and youth were spent under the embarrass- 
ments of poverty and dependence. The seemingly grudg- 
ing manner in which he was supported by his relatives, 
especially by his uncle Godwin, kindled a resentment 
that he never laid aside. Gratitude was not a marked 
feature of his character. '' Was it not your uncle God- 
win," he was once asked, ''who educated you.'"' " Yes," 
replied Swift after a pause, " he gave me the education of 
a dog." "Then," replied the inquirer with great intrepidity, 
*' you have not the gratitude of a dog." 

In 1682 he entered Trinity College, Dublin, but did not 
apply himself assiduously to the course of study. His 
own account of his college life presents the facts in as 
favorable a manner as they will bear. '' He was so dis- 
couraged and sunk in his spirits," he says, "that he too 
much neglected his academic studies, for some parts of 
which he had no great relish by nature, and turned himself 
to reading history and poetry, so that when the time came 
for taking his degree of Bachelor of Arts, although he 
had lived with great regularity and due observance of the 
statutes, he was stopped of his degree for dulness and 
insufficiency ; and at last hardly admitted in a manner 
little to his credit, which is called in that college speciali 



26o ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

gratia'' There is sufficient reason to believe that the 
"great regularity" which he ascribes to his life at this 
period is due chiefly to the distance from which the facts 
are viewed. 

After leaving the university in 1688, Swift entered the 
family of Sir William Temple, a distinguished statesman 
and writer, with whom he spent, except two brief intervals, 
the next ten years of his life. Here he was initiated into 
politics and made the acquaintance of King William, by 
whom he was offered a troop of horse. He was once sent 
by Temple with a confidential communication to the king 
and used all his skill to enforce his patron's views. But 
the king's mind was made up ; and this failure to carry 
his point Swift was wont to refer to as the first incident 
that helped to cure him of vanity. He improved his time 
by laborious study, reading, it is said, eight hours a day. 
At length he took orders and obtained a small living in 
Ireland ; but finding a remote country parish more irksome 
than his previous position, he returned to Sir William 
Temple's and remained there till that nobleman's death 
in 1699. He edited the works of his patron and dedicated 
them to William HI., in the hope of receiving some prefer- 
ment ; but in this, as in so many other cases, he suffered 
disappointment. 

While living in the house of Sir William Temple, Swift 
composed his first important work, '' The Battle of the 
Books." At this time the relative merits of ancient and 
modern authors was being debated in France and England. 
Temple had espoused the cause of the ancients with more 
zeal than learning; and as he had fared badly at the hands 
of Wotton and Bentley, — the latter the most eminent 



JONATHAN SWIFT. 26 1 

scholar of his day, — Swift came to his patron's defence in 
a satirical production, giving '' a full and true account of 
the battle fought last Friday between the ancient and the 
modern books in St. James's library." It is a prose imita- 
tion of Homer's style in the '' Iliad." Of course he makes 
the victory incline to the side of the ancients ; and Bentley 
and Wotton are left on the field transfixed by the same 
spear. This work was not pubHshed till 1704, though 
written several years previously. 

In 1699 Swift went to Ireland as chaplain to Lord Berke- 
ley, who was appointed one of the lord justices of that king- 
dom. He complained, not unjustly, of that nobleman's 
unkindness to him in bestowing preferments. Swift was 
put off with the unimportant vicarage of Laracor. Not- 
withstanding his disappointment, he discharged his duties 
faithfully under discouraging circumstances. His congre- 
gations averaged only half a score. On one occasion there 
was no person present but his clerk Roger ; with grim 
humor Swift began : " Dearly beloved Roger, the Scripture 
moveth you and me in sundry places," etc., and then pro- 
ceeded regularly through the whole service. For a time he 
had the ambition to excel as a preacher ; but he afterward 
lost confidence in his oratorical ability and declared that 
his sermons were only pamphlets. Some years before his 
death, he gave his entire collection to Dr. Sheridan with 
the remark, " They may be of use to you, they have never 
been of any to me." But an examination of his discourses 
shows that he unduly depreciated them. While they are 
lacking in oratorical fervor, they are clear and strong pres- 
entations of moral and religious truth, reflecting no dis- 
credit on the author's ability or piety. 



262 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

Swift sought preferment through a good part of his life. 
His heart was long set on a bishopric. Had he been a 
man of less genius and less independence, his ambition 
might have been gratified. But he could not be counted 
on to pull steadily in party traces ; and while feared by 
his enemies, he was never fully trusted by his friends. He 
was first a Whig ; then he turned Tory, and mercilessly 
lashed his former party associates. In proud conscious- 
ness of his power, he was exacting and imperious in his 
relations with the great. '* I generally am acquainted with 
about thirty in the drawing-room," he writes to Stella, *' and 
am so proud that I make all the lords come up to me." 
He once demanded an apology of the prime minister, and 
having obtained it, he wrote, *' I have taken Mr. Harley 
into favor again." The highest preferment Swift was 
able to obtain was the deanery of St. Patrick's in Dublin ; 
and this office, which he held till the close of his life, he 
looked on as an exile. 

Swift's strength lay chiefly in calm, cold, merciless sat- 
ire. In this style of writing he has no equal, perhaps, in 
the whole range of literature. His satirical gift amounts 
to real genius. But there is in it no genial humor, such as 
renders Addison's writings so charming. His touch is not 
playful, tender, delicate. Morbidly sensitive to the evils 
in society, the church, and the state, he castigates them in 
terrible earnest. He is grimly saturnine. In the " Modest 
Proposal" for preventing the children of poor people in 
Ireland from being a burden to their parents or country, 
and for making them beneficial to the public, we almost 
shudder at the impassive seriousness with which he intro- 
duces his hideous plan. '' I have been assured," he says, 



JONATHAN SWIFT. 263 

" by a very knowing American of my acquaintance in Lon- 
don, that a young healthy child well nursed is at a year old 
a most delicious, nourishing, and wholesome food, whether 
stewed, roasted, baked, or boiled; and I make no doubt 
that it will equally serve in a fricassee or a ragout." 

In 1704 Swift published a powerful satire entitled, "A 
Tale of a Tub," the object of which was to ridicule what 
he regarded as the inconsistency and intolerance of the 
leading bodies into which Christendom is divided. A 
father is described on his death-bed as bequeathing to each 
of his three sons, Peter, Martin, and Jack (representing 
Romanists, Anglicans, and Dissenters), a new coat. This 
was the Christian religion. " Now you are to understand," 
said the father, "that these coats have two virtues con- 
tained in them : one is, that with good wearing they will 
last you fresh and sound as long as you live ; the other is, 
that they will grow in the same proportion with your 
bodies, lengthening and widening of themselves, so as to 
be always fit." They were to live together in one house 
as brethren and friends. 

For the first seven years all went well. Then the 
brothers came to town, fell in love with the Duchess 
d'Argent, Madame de Grands Titres, and the Countess 
d'Orgueil, representing covetousness, ambition, and pride. 
To win the favor of these ladies, the brothers began fo live 
as gallants. But they were embarrassed by the plainness 
of their coats. After some time, by a marvellous interpreta- 
tion of their father's will (the Bible), they added shoulder 
knots. Silver fringe (representing outward splendor) was 
soon in fashion ; and consulting the will again, they found, 
to their great astonishment, these words : " I charge and 



264 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

command my said three sons to wear no sort of silver 
fringe upon or about their said coats." What was to be 
done ? Peter, with great erudition and critical skill, re- 
moved the difficulty. He *' had found in a certain author, 
which he said should be nameless, that the same word 
which in the will is 0.2^0.^ fringe does also signify a broom- 
stick ; and doubtless ought to have the same interpreta- 
tion in this paragraph." By similar outrageous subterfuges 
the three brothers added gold lace and flame-colored satin 
linings to their coats and lived in the height of fashion. 
Finally, their father's will was locked up and disregarded 
entirely. Peter began to put on airs ; and styling himself 
*' My Lord Peter," cast his brothers out of the house. 

The genius displayed in "The Tale of a Tub" is 
unmistakable; but the general tone of the satire — its 
coarseness, irreverence, and indiscrimination — called forth 
general condemnation. More than anything else, it stood 
in the way of the coveted bishopric. His enemies used 
it to his disadvantage; and as we read it to-day, we can 
hardly find fault with the judgment expressed at the time, 
that the author was not fit to be a bishop. 

In 1 710 Swift went to London on business connected 
with the Irish church, and spent there the next three yeajs 
— perhaps the happiest years of his life. He was inti- 
mately associated with the political and literary leaders of 
the metropolis. Politics and literature were more inti- 
mately associated then than at the present time. His 
political pamphlets exerted an immense influence on pub- 
lic opinion. He was the most trenchant and formidable 
pamphleteer of his day. He lived on terms of intimacy 
with Addison and Pope, and used his influence at court to 



JONATHAN SWIFT. 265 

advance the interests of his friends. It was during these 
years in London that he wrote his remarkable "Journal 
to Stella," in which we see so vividly the life of the time. 
In his second letter he writes : " Henceforth I will write 
something every day to MD ^ and make it a sort of jour- 
nal; and when it is full, I will send it whether MD writes 
or not ; and so that will be pretty, and I shall always be 
in conversation with MD." He adhered to his promise; 
and day after day he wrote down the most trifling occur- 
rences, — the persons he met, where he dined, what he ate 
and spent, his hopes and fears, political, social, and literary 
gossip, — a record almost without parallel in literature for 
the historic importance of the men and events that figure 
in its pages, and for the clearness with which it reproduces 
the life of another age. 

But who was Stella.'* This leads us to a consideration 
of Swift's relation to women, one of the most unsatis- 
factory and mysterious features of his life. His power- 
ful individuality, together with his brilliant conversation 
and keen wit, made a deep impression on the opposite 
sex. He was constantly surrounded by a group of admir- 
ing women. But there were two in whom he inspired a 
deathless devotion, which in the end rendered their lives 
desolate. How far he was to blame, it is now impossible 
to tell. There is an unsolved mystery hanging over his 
conduct, of which we have only a hint. After a private 
conversation with Swift, which seems to have been some 
sort of confession. Archbishop King said to a friend, 
"You have just met the most unhappy man on earth; 

1 The initials of My Dear — a part of the little language of endearment he 
constantly employs. 



266 ENGLISH LITERATURE, 

but on the subject of his wretchedness you must never 
ask a question." 

Stella is a poetic name which Swift bestowed on Esther 
Johnson, a beautiful, dark-eyed girl, whom he had met 
at Sir William Temple's, and whose studies he had 
directed. This relation ripened into a feeling of at least 
sincere friendship on the part of Swift, and on the part 
of Stella into a lasting devotion. After his settlement in 
Ireland, she removed thither, at his request, to be near 
him, and remained there during his sojourn in London. 

In the metropolis he met another and accomplished 
young woman named Esther Vanhomrigh, to whom he 
gave the poetic sobriquet of Vanessa. He frequently 
dined at her mother's — insensibly drawn, perhaps, by 
an attraction he had not the courage to recognize. He 
interested himself in Vanessa's studies and was repaid 
with an impassioned and quenchless love. She pos- 
sessed ample means ; and after his return to Dublin, 
she followed him. In his embarrassing situation between 
Stella and Vanessa, he temporized for a time, unable or 
fearing to discard either beauty. 

At last he consented to a secret marriage with Stella 
in 1 716. But it was a marriage only in name. At length 
Vanessa, grown weary with years of waiting, wrote a let- 
ter of inquiry to Stella. This step incensed the imperi- 
ous dean beyond measure. He suddenly appeared before 
her in a paroxysm of fury ; and, without saying a word, 
but with a fierce countenance that struck terror to her 
heart, he threw down the unfortunate letter and instantly 
left the house. It was Vanessa's death-warrant ; and in 
a few weeks, in 1723, she died of a broken heart. Stella 



JONATHAN SWIFT. 267 

survived her five years, but with all the sweetness of 
life gone. On her death-bed, Swift, referring to their 
marriage, said, "Well, my dear, if you wish it, it shall 
be owned." Her pathetic answer was, "It is too late." 
As a memento, he kept a little package, on which was 
inscribed, " Only a woman's hair." 

In 1724 an opportunity presented itself for Swift to 
take vengeance on the EngHsh government for his exile. 
A patent had been granted to WilUam Wood to supply 
Ireland with a debased copper coinage. Swift attacked 
the scheme in a series of letters published in a Dublin 
newspaper and signed " M. B. Drapier." They were 
seven in number and are known as the " Drapier Let- 
ters." They were written with great ingenuity and power ; 
and, as a result, the Irish people were roused to fury, and 
the English government found it necessary to cancel the 
patent. Swift became the most popular man in Ireland ; 
and to arrest him, it was said, would require a force of 
ten thousand men. 

Two years later appeared his most famous work, " Gul- 
liver's Travels." Though containing numerous references 
to the political and social condition of England, it may, 
as a whole, be considered as a satire on the human race. 
It consists of four voyages. In the first, Gulliver visits 
Lilliput, where the inhabitants are six inches high, and 
^all other objects — houses, trees, ships, animals — are in 
the same proportion. In the second voyage, he goes to 
Brobdingnag, a country of enormous giants sixty feet 
tall. In the third, he visits Laputa and other fantastic 
countries. In the last voyage, he discovers the country 
of the Houyhnhnms, in which horses are the rational 



268 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

and dominant race, and men, under the name of Yahoos, 
are degraded to the state of irrational brutes. The whole 
story is told with an air of candor that rivals Defoe. The 
satire, which is filled with a delightful variety of incidents, 
is lighter and more entertaining in the first two parts ; 
but in the last two the misanthropy overpowers the 
humor and arouses a feeling of indignant protest. What- 
ever may be their frailties and sins, men are not Yahoos. 

None of Swift's writings give us a clearer insight into 
his character than his "Thoughts on Various Subjects." 
They are in the form of aphorisms, which embody much 
shrewd observation, but also a good deal of error and 
cynicism. A few are given : — 

*' We have just enough religion to make us hate, but not 
enough to make us love, one another." 

" All fits of pleasure are balanced by an equal degree of 
pain or languor ; it is like spending this year part of the 
next year's revenue." 

"The latter part of a wise man's life is taken up in 
curing the follies, prejudices, and false opinions he had 
contracted in the former." 

" When a true genius appears in the world, you may 
know him by this sign, that the dunces are all in confed- 
eracy against him." 

" The reason why so few marriages are happy is because 
young ladies spend their time in making nets, not in making 
cages." 

" The stoical scheme of supplying our wants by lopping 
off our desires, is like cutting off our feet when we want 
shoes." 

Swift has left a considerable body of verse — it cannot 



J ON A THAN S WIFT. 269 

in justice be called poetry. After perusing one of his 
early metrical pieces, Dryden remarked, " Cousin Swift, 
you will never be a poet." This judgment, which does 
credit to Dryden' s critical sagacity, cost him the implacable 
dislike of Swift. Swift's mind was lacking in warm imagi- 
nation and delicate sensibility. He saw things in their 
reality. In spite of its intellectual power, his mind had an 
abnormal tendency to what is low and disgusting. His 
verse is disfigured, as is much of his prose, by a coarseness 
and obscenity which are no longer tolerated among respect- 
able people. 

His style is in perfect keeping with the man. He was 
too proud for affectation. He wrote as he lived ; and in 
all his works we find him direct, unconventional, strong. 
In the language of Thackeray, who is far from being partial 
to the dean, *' He shuns tropes and metaphors, and uses his 
ideas and words with a wise thrift and economy, as he used 
his money, with which he could be generous and splendid 
upon great occasions, but which he husbanded when there 
was no need to spend it. He never indulges in needless 
extravagance of rhetoric, lavish epithets, profuse imagery. 
He lays his opinion before you with a grave simplicity and 
a perfect neatness." 

In his social relations Swift exhibited some of the eccen- 
tricities of genius. He disdainfully trampled on conven- 
tional forms and amenities, assuming to be a law unto 
himself. He was sometimes outrageous in his insolence 
and pride. Dining one day with the Earl of Burlington, 
he said to the mistress of the house, " Lady Burlington, 
I hear you can sing ; sing me a song." The lady natu- 
rally resented this freedom of address, and promptly de- 



2/0 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

clined. "Why, madam," he exclaimed,"! suppose you 
take me for one of your poor English hedge-parsons ; 
sing when I bid you." The lady burst into tears and left 
the room. The next time he met her, his salutation was, 
" Pray, madam, are you as proud and ill-natured now as 
when I saw you last } " 

But, notwithstanding these faults, there was something 
in his strong individuality that possessed an unusual charm. 
He was much sought after in London society, and during 
his stay there, as we learn from the "Journal to Stella," 
scarcely a day passed that he did not dine with some celeb- 
rity. His friendships were as strong as his dislikes were 
bitter. He warmly promoted Pope's translation of Homer 
and declared his purpose not to let the poet publish a line 
till he had raised for him a thousand guineas. He loved 
his mother tenderly; and when she died in 1 710, he wrote: 
" I have now lost the last barrier between me and death. 
God grant that I may be as well prepared for it as I con- 
fidently believe her to have been ! If the way to Heaven 
be through piety, truth, justice, and charity, she is there." 

The closing years of his life were pitiful. Walking with 
some friends, one day, just outside of Dublin, he remained 
behind. He was gazing intently at a lofty tree, the top of 
which had been blasted. Upon the approach of Dr. 
Young, one of the party. Swift pointed to it, and said with 
significance, " I shall be like that tree, and die first at the 
top." His forebodings were fulfilled. About the year 
1736 his memory began to fail. The giddiness and deaf- 
ness, from which he had suffered nearly all his life, greatly 
increased. He lost all taste for society and no longer 
took pleasure in writing or in books ; his days, filled with 



JONATHAN SWIFT. 2/1 

pain and desolateness, dragged heavily along. At last his 
understanding failed him, and in 1740 it became necessary 
to appoint guardians of his person and estate. From this 
sad condition he was released by death, in 1745. He lies 
buried in the cathedral of St. Patrick. 

Swift is one of the most tragic figures in English litera- 
ture. His character exhibits strength without elevation. 
His dominant passion was an imperious pride that sought 
to bend everything to his will. In his lust for power, he 
acted largely on the principle of "rule or ruin." His fre- 
quent disappointments filled his heart with bitterness, yet 
he was not without kind and generous impulses ; but, to 
escape the praises or gratitude of men, he frequently con- 
cealed his charities, or accompanied them with a wilfully 
offensive brusqueness. His piety has been unjustly ques- 
tioned. While he waged a relentless war on hypocrisy 
and formalism, he was deeply religious at heart ; and in 
his hour of greatest need he lifted his soul in agonizing 
prayer to God. 



i 



AGE OF JOHNSON. 



PRINCIPAL WRITERS. 

Orators. — Richard Brinsley Sheridan (1751-1816), orator, poli- 
tician, and dramatist. Pitt said of his speech in the trial of Warren 
Hastings, "that it surpasses all the eloquence of ancient or modern 
times." Two of his dramas, "The Rivals" (1775) and "The School 
for Scandal" (1777), take high rank. 

Edmund Burke (1730- 1797). Orator, statesman, and author. His 
principal works are his " Inquiry into the Origin of our Ideas of the 
Sublime and Beautiful" (1756) and his "Reflections on the Revolution 
in France " (1790). 

Historians. — David Hume (1711-1776). Historian and phi- 
losopher. Author of "Essays Moral and Political" (174O' "Inquiry 
Concerning the Human Understanding " (1748), " History of England " 
(1754-1762), etc. 

William Robertson (1721-1793). Clergyman and historian. Au- 
thor of " History of Scotland" (1759), " History of Charles V." (1769), 
and " History of America " ( i ']']']^ . 

Edward Gibbon ( 1 737-1 794) • Author of " The Decline and Fall of 
the Roman Empire" (i 776-1 788), etc. 

Poets. —Mark Akenside (1721-1771). His principal book is his 
"Pleasures of the Imagination" (1744), suggested by Addison's essay 
on the same subject in the Spectator. 

Thomas Gray (1716-1771). His poem "A Distant Prospect of 
Eton College " (1742) attracted attention. His best-known poem is the 
"Elegy in a Country Churchyard" (1750). "Progress of Poesy" 
(1755) and "The Bard," which was not completed, are his other pro- 
ductions. One of the most artistic of English poets. 

William Collins (i 721-1759). A lyrical poet of fine genius. His 
volume of "Odes," published in 1747, fell still-born from the press. 
T 273 



2/4 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

His '* Ode on the Death of Thomson," " Ode to Evening,"" and " Ode 
on the Passions" are excellent poems. 

George Crabbe (1754-1832). His principal poem is "The Village" 
(1783). He was Augustan in the form of his poetry, using the rhymed 
couplet, but modern in spirit. Byron calls him " Nature's sternest 
painter, but the best." 

James Beattie (1735-1803). "The Minstrel," his best poem, ap- 
peared, the first part, in 1771, and the second part in 1774. It is 
written in Spenserian stanza and marks the transition from the artificial 
to the natural school. 

William Shenstone (1714-1 763). "The Schoolmistress" (1742) is 
a poem in Spenserian verse, belonging to the rising romantic school. 
It describes a village school. 

Miscellaneous. — Thomas Warton (1728-1790). Professor of 
Poetry at Oxford, and author of a "History of English Poetry" (1781), 
extending to the early part of the seventeenth century. 

Thomas Percy (1729-1811). Bishop, and author of "' Reliques of 
Ancient English Poetry." 

James Boswell (i 740-1 795). Friend of Dr. Johnson, noting that 
great writers speech and actions. His "Life of Dr. Johnson" (1791) 
is regarded as one of the best biographies ever written. 

Horace Walpole (1717-1797). Earl of Oxford, and author of "The 
Castle of Otranto " (1765), written in an extravagant romantic style, 
and "Historic Doubts on the Life and Reign of Richard III." (1768). 

Adam Smith (i 723-1790). Political economist, and author of " The 
Wealth of Nations " (1776), a widely influential book, laying the founda- 
tions of a national political economy. 



GREAT REPRESENTATIVE WRITERS. 

Samuel Johnson. Edward Gibbon. 

Oliver Goldsmith. William Cowper. 

Robert Burns. 



VI. 

AGE OF JOHNSON. 

(1745-1800.) 

Characteristics of period — Transition — Brotherhood of man — Dec- 
laration of Independence — Democratic tendencies — Advancing 
intelligence — Newspapers — Moral and religious improvement — 
Philanthropy — England a world-power — Results on English char- 
acter — Oratory — Pitt, Burke — Historical writing — Hume, Rob- 
ertson — Romantic movement — Effects — Humanity — Nature — 
Samuel Johnson — Oliver Goldsmith — Edward Gibbon — 
William Cowper — Robert Burns. 

The course of English literature is marked by a succes- 
sion of rises and descents. Notwithstanding the presence 
of a few writers of marked excellence, the period under 
consideration is one of decadence. Old influences were 
giving place to new. This period is named after Johnson, 
the great literary dictator, simply as a matter of conven- 
ience. While he was the centre of an influential literary 
group for many years, and the most picturesque and com- 
manding literary figure of his time, other and mightier 
influences were at work, giving a new tone and direction 
to literature. 

In great measure Johnson bore the impress of the pre- 
ceding period. In his poetry he is coldly classical ; and 
in a part, at least, of his prose, he is an imitator of Addison. 
The real characteristic of this second half of the eighteenth 
century is transition. By the side of the literary forms and 
canons of the age of Pope, there arose a new kind of writ- 

275 



2/6 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

ing distinguished by a return to nature. Artificial poetry 
had already been carried to its utmost limits ; and if litera- 
ture was to reach a higher excellence, it was obliged to 
assume a new form. And to this it was urged by the mo- 
mentous social, political, and religious changes that took 
place, not only in England, but on the Continent and in 
America during the latter part of the century. 

In their onward course mankind made a marked advance. 
In social and political relations the rights of men were more 
clearly recognized, and the brotherhood of mankind began 
to affect existing customs and institutions. As in all great 
forward movements of the world, a variety of causes co- 
operated in bringing about great changes. Unwilling 
hands often played an important part. The stupidity and 
obstinacy of George III. and of some of his ministers hast- 
ened the formal declaration of those principles of liberty 
which mark a new era in civil government. 

A strong tendency of the age was crystallized in the 
Declaration of Independence. ''We hold these truths to 
be self-evident," said the wise and courageous representa- 
tives of the American colonists, " that all men are created 
equal ; that they are endowed by their Creator with certain 
unalienable rights ; that among these are life, liberty, and 
the pursuit of happiness ; that, to secure these rights, gov- 
ernments are instituted among men, deriving their just 
powers from the consent of the governed ; that, whenever 
any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, 
it is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it, and to 
institute a new government, laying its foundation on such 
principles, and organizing its powers in such form as to 
them shall seem most likely to effect their safety and hap- 



I 



AGE OF JOHNSON. 2// 

piness." This solemn declaration sounded the knell of 
absolutism in the world. It is a political gospel that is 
destined to leaven the whole lump. 

But how came the American colonists to a recognition 
of the weighty truths embodied in this declaration } They 
simply voiced the growing spirit of the age. The greater 
diffusion of knowledge had opened the eyes of men to a 
better perception of truth. The force of custom and preju- 
dice was, in a measure, broken. The claims of superiority 
set up by privileged classes were seen to be baseless, and 
injustice and oppression in the state were discerned and 
denounced. 

In England there was a noteworthy advance in popular 
intelligence. Remarkable inventions in the mechanic arts 
placed new power in the hands of the producing classes. 
The use of coal in smelting iron ; the opening of canals 
throughout England ; the invention of the spinning-jenny 
and power-loom ; the perfecting of the steam-engine with 
its wide application to manufacturing purposes — all this 
brought people together in large communities, greatly 
raised the average intelligence, and established the indus- 
trial supremacy of England. 

Printing-presses were set up in every town ; circulating 
libraries were opened ; newspapers were multiplied ; and 
monthly magazines and reviews fostered the general intel- 
ligence that called them into being. "The proceedings of 
Parliament were regularly published and naturally became 
the subject of discussion in every club-room and at many 
a hearthstone. The first great English journals — the 
Morning Chronicle^ the Morimig Post, and the Times — 
date from this period. 



278 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

The moral and religious state of society showed marked 
improvement. The Wesleyan revival had rendered the 
fox-hunting clergyman an impossibility. Crossness gave 
v/ay to decorum in life. Indecency was almost wholly 
banished from the stage and from literature. This happy 
change is illustrated in an incident told us by Sir Walter 
Scott. His grandaunt assured him that, when led by 
curiosity to turn over the pages of a novel in which she 
had delighted in her youth, she was astonished to find that, 
sitting alone at the age of eighty, she was unable to read 
without shame a book which sixty years before she had 
heard read out for amusement in large circles, consisting 
of the best society in London. 

This improved moral tone was not restricted to senti- 
ment. One of the noble features of this period was the 
active efforts to improve the condition of the unfortunate 
and the oppressed. The slave-trade, which Englishmen 
had long made a source of profitable commerce, was 
abolished. Hospitals were established. Howard, by his 
noble enthusiasm and incessant labors, secured a reform 
in prison discipline. Robert Raikes of Gloucester estab- 
lished the Sunday-school, which for England was the 
beginning of popular education. 

With the conclusion of the Seven Years' War, England 
entered upon her career as a world-power. She ceased, 
in large measure, to be a rival of Germany or France. 
By the treaty of Paris, in 1763, Canada and the Mississippi 
Valley were ceded to England, and the future of America 
as an English-speaking nation was secured. Through the 
fearless explorations of Cook, numerous islands in the 
Pacific, including Australia, were added to the domain of 



AGE OF JOHNSON. 2/9 

England. The victory of Plassey, in 1757, laid the founda- 
tion of English supremacy in India. England was felt to 
be, to use the words of Burke, "but part of a great em- 
pire, extended by our virtue and our fortune to the farthest 
limits of the east and the west." 

The inevitable result of all these conditions was an in- 
creasing sense of power, a greater breadth of view, and 
especially a clearer recognition of the rights of men. The 
foundations were laid for a vigorous literature, but the 
completed results were not to appear till the succeeding 
period. A noteworthy feature of the time is the predomi- 
nance of prose. Poetry retires somewhat into the back- 
ground ; fancy gives place to reason. It was a practical 
age, largely absorbed in material advancement and political 
and social reform. 

The period of Johnson was brilliant in its oratory. The 
world has never seen a group of greater orators than Pitt, 
Fox, Chatham, Sheridan, Burke. Great questions of gov- 
ernment presented themselves for consideration and action. 
Through the activity of the press, eloquence was no longer 
bounded by the halls of Parliament, but extended to the 
limits of the kingdom." Much of the eloquence of the 
time is imperishable. The principles of human liberty, 
of sound political economy, and of manly integrity have 
never had better utterance. *' Sir," exclaimed Pitt, after 
the passage of the Stamp Act had aroused resistance, " I 
rejoice that America has resisted. Three million of peo- 
ple, so dead to all the feelings of liberty as voluntarily to 
be slaves, would have been fit instruments to make slaves 
of the rest." 

The most prominent figure in this group of orators was 



28o ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

Edward Burke. " I have learned more from him," ex- 
claimed Fox in a burst of admiration, " than from all the 
books I ever read." To philosophical depth Burke added 
the glow of imagination ; and to vast resources of fact, 
he joined the warmth of ardent feeling. His grasp of 
principles and his expression of lofty sentiment give a 
permanent value to his masterful speeches. Though he 
sometimes wearied his auditors by his profundity and 
length, his efforts at their best have the immortality that 
belongs to the orations of his master Cicero. Among his 
many able speeches, that on " Conciliation with America " 
is usually regarded as the best. 

But Burke was an author as well as orator. In 1756 he 
wrote an " Inquiry into the Sublime and Beautiful," which, 
though highly esteemed in its day, has been superseded 
by later works on art criticism. In 1770 appeared his 
*' Thoughts on the Cause of the Present Discontents," which 
is an elevated, philosophical discussion of existing politi- 
cal conditions. His most important work is his " Reflec- 
tions on the French Revolution." It was a passionate 
arraignment of the revolutionary movement. '' Its appeal 
to the passions, its cruel force and wit," says Gosse, "its 
magnificent, direct incentive to reaction, all these gave the 
' Reflections ' an amazing interest to those who had just 
witnessed, with bewilderment, the incomprehensible and 
unexampled progress of events in France. Upon all the 
trembling kings of Europe, upon the exiles on the Rhine 
especially, the book fell like rain after a long drought." 

In his political career Burke kept himself infinitely above 
the hypocrisy and sycophancy of the demagogue. Not 
for a moment did he lay aside the independence and dig- 



AGE OF JOHNSON. 28 1 

nity of a great statesman. No other representative of the 
people ever gave a manUer account of his stewardship 
than did he to the electors of Bristol. After meeting in 
perfect frankness and candor the objections that had been 
urged against his conduct in Parliament, he concluded : 
" And now, gentlemen, on this serious day when I come, 
as it were, to make up my account with you, let me take 
to myself some degree of honest pride on the nature of the 
charges that are against me. I do not here stand before 
you accused of venality or neglect of duty. It is not said 
that, in the long period of my service, I have, in a single 
instance, sacrificed the slightest of your interests to my 
ambition or to my fortune. It is not alleged that, to gratify 
any anger or revenge of my own or of my party, I have 
had a share in wronging or oppressing any description of 
men, or any one man in any description. No! The 
charges against me are all of one kind : that I have pushed 
the principles of general justice^ and benevolence too far — 
further than a cautious policy would warrant, and further 
than the opinions of many would go along with me. In 
every accident which may happen through life, in pain, in 
sorrow, in depression, and distress, I will call to mind this 
accusation and be comforted." 

During the period before us, historical writing attained 
an excellence that has scarcely been surpassed. There 
arose three great historians who brought to their narratives 
philosophical insight and a finished excellence of style. 
Among the historians of the world, there are few greater 
names than Hume, Robertson, and Gibbon. 

Hume very early developed a passion for literature, 
which continued through life his ruling purpose and chief 



282 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

enjoyment. He was encouraged by his family to devote 
himself to law, but he felt a strong aversion to everything 
but philosophy and general learning. He went to France 
to prosecute his studies in a country retreat. " I there laid 
that plan of life," he says, "which I have steadily and 
successfully pursued. I resolved to make a very rigid fru- 
gality supply my deficiency of fortune, to maintain unim- 
paired my independency, and to regard every object as 
contemptible, except the improvement of my talents in lit- 
erature." 

His earlier publications — a ''Treatise on Human Na- 
ture" and his ** Philosophical Essays" — slowly gained 
recognition. His sceptical and philosophical views were 
attacked. The sale of his works increased. But he never 
allowed himself to be drawn into controversy. *' I had a 
fixed resolution," he says, "which I inflexibly maintained, 
never to reply to anybody ; and not being very irascible in 
my temper, I have easily kept myself clear of literary 
squabbles. These symptoms of a rising reputation gave 
me encouragement, as I was ever more disposed to see 
the favorable than the unfavorable side of things ; a turn 
of mind which is more happy to possess than to be born to 
an estate of ten thousand a year." 

In 1 75 1 he removed from the country to Edinburgh, 
where the most of his subsequent life was spent. Here 
he soon began his " History of England," the work that 
has given him a permanent place in English literature. 
The successive volumes appeared at intervals between 
1754 and 1762. At first coldly received, it gradually forced 
itself into notice and became the source of a considerable 
income. It is characterized by great clearness and elegance 



I 



AGE OF JOHNSON. 283 

of narrative, but is not always trustworthy and judicial in 
its conclusions. His judgment was sometimes warped by 
his sceptical and Tory prejudices. Macaulay pronounces 
him *'an accomplished advocate." 

William Robertson, like Hume, early manifested a 
strong literary enthusiasm and ambition. The common- 
place books of his student days bore the motto, " Vita 
sine Uteris mors est'' — life without literature is death. 
He was indifferent to mathematics and mediocre in meta- 
physics ; but in moral and religious truth, as well as in 
historical investigations, he showed marked aptitude and 
proficiency. Desirous of excelling in oratory, he studied 
the ancient and modern orators, and united with some 
fellow-students in establishing a literary society, the pur- 
pose of which was to " cultivate the study of elocution 
and to prepare themselves, by the habits of extemporary 
discussion and debate, for conducting the business of 
popular assemblies." 

In 1 74 1 he entered the ministry and endeared himself 
to his people by his kindness, fidelity, and eloquence. 
He employed his leisure in historical researches and in 
1759 pubHshed his " History of Scotland," which met with 
instantaneous success. Fourteen editions were called for 
during the author's life, and the work has taken perma- 
nent rank as a standard history. For a time he dreaded 
the rivalry of Hume, who in his '' History of England " 
traversed in part the same ground. But his fears proved 
groundless ; and it is highly creditable to these two gireat 
historians that their literary labors and successes did not 
in the least interrupt the course of their friendship. " I 
have not had in a long time," wrote Hume, " a more sen- 



284 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

sible pleasure than the good reception of your History has 
given me within this fortnight." 

In 1762 Robertson was elected Principal of the Univer- 
sity of Edinburgh ; but the cares of his new office did not 
silence his pen. After nine years of labor, he published 
his ** History of Charles V.," which was everywhere re- 
ceived with great applause. " It is to you and Mr. Hume," 
wrote Voltaire, '' that it belongs to write history. You are 
eloquent, learned, and impartial. I unite with Europe in 
esteeming you." The work was translated into French; 
and the remuneration received by the author is said to 
have been no less than four thousand pounds. Though 
hostile critics pointed out many inaccuracies of a minor 
character, the work retains its place as a splendid contri- 
bution to our historical literature. 

Robertson concluded his series of splendid historical 
works with his " History of the Discovery and Settlement 
of America." His style is one of equable dignity. His 
integrity as a narrator is beyond all question. " In ar- 
ranging and linking together into one harmonious whole 
the scattered parts of his subject," says a biographer, 
" he is eminently happy ; and in delineating characters, 
manners, and scenery, in making vividly present to the 
mind that which he describes, he has few rivals and no 
superiors." 

Edward Gibbon, the greatest of this triumvirate of his- 
torians, is reserved for more extended study. 

One of the most remarkable phenomena in the litera- 
ture of recent times is the romantic movement which 
originated in this period. A similar movement, known 
as the '* Storm and Stress," manifested itself in Germany 



AGE OF JOHNSON. 285 

about the same time. The same tendency followed a little 
later in France under the leadership of the great Victor 
Hugo. The romantic movement, which has been defined 
as liberalism in literature, is a reaction against the classi- 
cism of the age of Queen Anne. It is a breaking away 
from authority and a return to nature. It manifested 
itself in two particulars : first, a greater freedom in liter- 
ary form ; and, second, in a return to the past, particularly 
to an idealized age of chivalry in the Middle Ages. The 
rhymed couplet began to give place to blank verse, the 
Spenserian stanza, and the varied lyrical forms of the 
Elizabethan era. In criticism, fiction, and poetry there 
was an evident turning to the past. 

In 1765 Bishop Percy published his " Reliques of Eng- 
lish Poetry," a collection of old ballads that proved little 
less than an epoch-making book. The stirring force of 
these ballads, which sprang directly from the hearts of 
the people, increased dissatisfaction with the coldness 
of classical models. Thomas Warton's *' History of Eng- 
lish Poetry," published between 1774 and 1781, revealed 
the treasures of earlier English literature. In 1765 
Horace Walpole laid the foundation of the modern roman- 
tic novel with his '* Castle of Otranto," a wild extravagant 
story of "miracles, necromancy, dreams, and other preter- 
natural evils believed in during the Middle Ages." Two 
remarkable forgeries, which gave rise to much discussion 
in their day, were associated with the romantic tendency. 
The first was the "Poems of Ossian," put forth by James 
Macpherson in 1762 as a translation of a Gaelic bard of 
the third century. The other was the "Rowley Poems," 
written by a marvellous boy of seventeen, Thomas Chatter- 



286 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

ton, and purporting to be the work of a priest of the 
fifteenth century. 

Two other characteristics are to be noted in the poetry 
of this period. The first is the new interest in man, apart 
from class or rank. There is a new appreciation of the 
worth and dignity of human nature. This fact may be 
regarded as one of the manifestations of the democratic 
tendency of the age. In his famous " Elegy," Gray cele- 
brates — 

" The short and simple annals of the poor." 

Goldsmith dwells on the various phases of humble life 
in "The Deserted Village"; and Burns, filled with the 
rising spirit of democracy, exclaims, — 

" What tho' on hamely fare we dine, 

Wear hodden gray, and a' that ; 
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine — 

A man's a man for a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that, 

Their tinsel show, and a' that ; 
The honest man, though e'er sae poor, 

Is king of men for a' that.*' 

Nature, likewise, appears in a new relation. Instead of 
serving exclusively as a background for human interests, 
it is loved and studied for its own sake. Rural scenes 
and country life are frequently depicted. This tendency 
began, as we have seen, with Thomson's "Seasons." But 
his descriptions, though often minute and admirable, were 
too systematic and cold. He seems to have studied nature 
as a self-imposed task rather than from the drawings of a 
sympathetic love. In the " Minstrel " of James Beattie, 
published in 1771, we first meet with descriptions of nature 



AGE OF JOHNSON. 28 y 

in the spirit of Wordsworth and more recent writers. The 
minstrel boy ''knew great Nature's charms to prize." 

"And oft the craggy cliff he loved to climb, 
When all in mist the world below was lost — 
What dreadful pleasure! there to stand sublime, 
Like shipwrecked mariner on desert coast, 
And view the enormous waste of vapor, tossed 
In billows, lengthening to the horizon round, 
Now scooped in gulfs, with mountains now embossed. 
And hear the voice of mirth and song rebound ; 
Flocks, herds, and waterfalls, along the hoar profound! " 

The same love of nature, as we shall see, is found in 
Goldsmith, Cowper, and Burns. 



I 



288 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



SAMUEL JOHNSON. 

There is no other English author with whom we are so 
intimately acquainted. Through the hero-worship of his 
biographer Boswell, we are permitted to see and hear him 
as he appeared in the circle of his most intimate friends. 
We get close to the man as he actually was. We know 
his prejudices, foibles, and peculiarities ; and, strange to 
say, this minute acquaintance does not lessen, but increases 
our admiration and love. He was a piece of rugged Alpine 
manhood. But his towering greatness was softened by a 
benevolence that never failed to reach out a helping hand 
to the needy ; and his brusqueness of manner was relieved 
by an integrity of character that scorned every form of 
hypocrisy. In the midst of so much pettiness and cant, it is 
delightful to contemplate his sturdy uprightness and inde- 
pendence ; as Carlyle said of Luther, '*A true son of nature 
and fact, for whom these centuries, and many that are to 
come yet, will be thankful to Heaven." 

His peculiarities of person and manner are well known. 
He was ponderous in body as in intellect. A scrofulous 
affection, for which Queen Anne had laid royal hands 
upon him, had disfigured his face, and also tinged his mind, 
perhaps, with whim and melancholy. He had a rolling 
walk, and made it a habit to touch the posts as he passed. 
His appetite for tea was enormous ; and he ate with an 
absorbing interest that might properly be called ravenous. 




Engraved by William Doughty alter the paintigg by Sir Joshua Reynolds, London. Published, 

1/ y^. 



^u/^rOkiJu^. 






SAMUEL JOHNSON. 289 

His sight was defective ; but when Reynolds painted him 
with a pen held close to his eye, he protested that he did 
not want to descend to posterity as "blinking Sam." He 
was singularly insensible to music ; and when a musical 
performance was praised as being difficult, he simply said 
that he wished it had been impossible. After he had pub- 
lished his dictionary he was once with a friend at the top 
of a hill. " I haven't had a roll for a long time," said 
the great lexicographer; and, emptying his pockets, he 
stretched himself on the ground, turning over and over, 
like a barrel, till he reached the bottom. 

But in spite of physical defects and eccentric manners, 
he dominated, by the sheer force of genius, the most brill- 
iant club of London and became the most imposing literary 
figure of his age. In conversation he was ready and 
eloquent, though apt to bear down an opponent by mere 
.vociferation or savage personality. " There is no arguing 
with Johnson," said Goldsmith; ''for if his pistol misses 
fire, he knocks you down with the but-end of it." He 
looked upon conversation as an intellectual wrestling and 
delighted in it as a skilled and powerful athlete. '' That 
fellow," he once said when sick, " calls forth all my 
powers. Were I to see Burke now, it would kill me." 

He sometimes offended his friends by his rude personal- 
ities ; but his repentance was so prompt and genuine that 
he was speedily forgiven.. He set a high value on friend- 
ship, which, he said, one ought to keep in constant repair. 
" I look upon a day as lost," he said in his later years, '' in 
which I do not make a new acquaintance." With all his 
clearness of judgment and honesty of purpose, he was 
sometimes narrow and prejudiced in his opinions. Not 



290 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

everything he says is to be taken as true, though expressed 
in the most dogmatic way. *' No man but a blockhead," 
he said, "ever wrote except for money." liis principles as 
a Tory and Churchman sometimes warped his literary 
criticism. Upon the death of Dr. Bathurst, a friend of his 
earlier years, he said : " Dear Bathurst was a man to my 
very heart's content ; he hated a fool, and he hated a rogue, 
and he hated a Whig ; he was a very good hater." 

Samuel Johnson was born at Lichfield in 1709, the son 
of a bookseller of considerable ability and reputation. As 
a boy he was fond of athletic exercises, in which he ex- 
celled ; and he possessed a constitutional fearlessness that 
made him a natural leader. At the grammar school of 
his native town he acquired the rudiments of Latin under 
a stern discipUne. Though he afterward complained of 
the severity of his teachers, he remained a believer in the 
virtues of the rod. '* A child that is flogged," he said, 
" gets his task, and there's an end on't ; whereas by excit- 
ing emulation and comparisons of superiority, you lay the 
foundations of lasting mischief ; you make brothers and 
sisters hate each other." 

He left school at sixteen and spent the next two years 
at home, probably learning his father's business. He con- 
tinued his studies, became a good Latin scholar, and accu- 
mulated large stores of general information. He was a 
voracious reader. In 1728 he entered Pembroke College, 
Oxford, with an unusual store of knowledge. He suffered 
from poverty, and at the end of three years he left 
the university without taking a degree. Attacks of 
melancholy sometimes drove him to the verge of insanity. 
When reminded in after years that he had been *' a gay 



SAMUEL JOHNSON. 29 1 

and frolicsome fellow," he replied : " Ah, sir, I was mad 
and violent. It was bitterness which they mistook for 
frolic. I was miserably poor, and I thought to fight my 
way by my literature and my wit ; so I disregarded all 
power and all authority." In his poverty he remained 
proud ; and when a new pair of shoes was placed at his 
door by some benevolent person, he ungraciously flung 
them away. 

In 1 73 1 he left the university to make his way in the 
world. For the next thirty years his life was a constant 
struggle with poverty and hardship. Though of a deeply 
religious nature, he did not turn to the church for a living. 
He tried teaching, and failed. At the age of twenty-six 
he married a fat, gaudy widow of forty-eight. To John- 
son's defective sight she always remained a '' pretty crea- 
ture," while she had discernment enough to see the worth 
and ability of her husband. Though his declaration, that 
''it was a love match on both sides," is apt to meet with 
some incredulity, the marriage did not prove an unhappy 
one, and there is something pathetic in the tenderness 
with which he always referred to her. 

In 1737 he went to London with three or four guineas 
and half of the tragedy of " Irene " in his pocket. Litera- 
ture at this time did not offer an inviting field. It gen- 
erally meant poorly paid hack-work for publishers. Long 
afterward, in recalling the trials >of this period, Johnson 
burst into tears. One of the publishers to whom he 
applied for work advised him, after surveying his athletic 
frame, to get a "porter's knot and carry trunks." He was 
often in want of food, clothes, and lodging. In these days 
of precarious livelihood he was befriended by Harry Her- 



292 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

vey, toward whom he ever afterward cherished a Uvely 
sense of gratitude. '* Harry Hervey," he said shortly be- 
fore his death, *'was a vicious man, but very kind to me. 
If you call a dog Hervey, I shall love him." 

Notwithstanding his dependent condition, he did not 
become obsequious. His feeling of manly independence 
and self-respect never deserted him. He was employed 
once by Osborne to make a catalogue of the Harleian 
Library. Reproved by his employer in an offensive man- 
ner for negligence, Johnson knocked him down with a 
huge Greek folio. 

The year after his arrival in London, we find him at 
work on the Gejttlemafis Magazine, a periodical of wide 
circulation. His most important contributions were his 
reports of the proceedings of Parliament, which the pub- 
lisher, as a measure of precaution, sent forth as '* Reports 
of the Debates of the Senate of Lilliput." He was fur- 
nished with notes, generally meagre and inaccurate ; and 
on these as a basis it was his business to write the 
speeches. He did the work marvellously well. Many 
years afterward one of Pitt's speeches was pronounced 
superior to anything in Demosthenes. Johnson replied, 
*'I wrote that speech in a garret in Exeter Street." When 
his impartiality was once praised in a friendly company, 
he answered with charming frankness, " That is not quite 
true ; I saved appearances pretty well, but I took care that 
the Whig dogs should not have the best of it." 

In 1738 appeared a poem entitled' "London," an imita- 
tion of the third satire of Juvenal. It met with a favor- 
able reception ; and though it brought the author only ten 
guineas in money, it served to direct attention to him as 



SAMUEL JOHNSON. 293 

a man of genius. It was published anonymously ; but 
Pope declared on reading it that the author could not long 
remain concealed. Its general theme is found in the fol- 
lowing lines, which were written doubtless with all the 
conviction of bitter experience : — 

"This mournful truth is everywhere confessed, 
Slow rises worth by poverty depressed ; 
But here more slow, where all are slaves to gold ; 
Where looks are merchandise and smiles are sold ; 
Where, won by bribes, by flatteries implored, 
The groom retails the favors of his lord." 

Another work appearing in 1744 added much to John- 
son's reputation. One of his Grub Street acquaintances 
was Richard Savage, a man of noble birth but profligate 
life. In spite of an insolent manner, he was of agreeable 
companionship and wide experience. He had passed 
through great vicissitudes of fortune ; and on his death, 
Johnson wrote his life in a masterly manner. " No finer 
specimen of literary biography," says Macaulay, *' existed 
in any language, living or dead." It had the effect of 
pretty well establishing Johnson's fame. 

In 1747 he was applied to by several eminent book- 
sellers to prepare a *' Dictionary of Ihe English Lan- 
guage." The remuneration agreed upon was fifteen 
hundred guineas. The plan was issued and addressed to 
Lord Chesterfield, the most polished man of his time. 
This distinguished lord had at one time given the burly 
scholar encouragement ; but repelled at last by his boor- 
ishness of manner, he had politely shaken him off. He 
characterized Johnson as a " respectable Hottentot, who 
throws his meat anywhere but down his throat." '' This 



294 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

absurd person," he says again, **was not only uncouth in 
manners and warm in dispute, but behaved exactly in the 
same way to superiors, equals, and inferiors ; and there- 
fore, by a necessary consequence, absurdly to two of the 
three." Johnson's opinion of Chesterfield contained just 
as little flattery. He denounced that nobleman's " Let- 
ters " as teaching the morals of a harlot and the manners 
of a dancing-master. At another time he said, *' I thought 
this man had been a lord among wits; but I find he is only 
a wit among lords." 

After seven years of drudgery Johnson brought his 
work to a close. In hopes of having it dedicated to him- 
self, Chesterfield took occasion to recommend it in two 
letters published in the World, a periodical to which men 
of rank and fashion frequently contributed. The proud 
scholar was not to be appeased ; and his reply was terrific 
— ** the far-famed blast of doom proclaiming into the ear 
of Lord Chesterfield," says Carlyle, ''and through him of 
the listening world, that patronage should be no more." 
" Is not a patron, my lord," wrote Johnson, " one who 
looks with unconcern on a man struggling for life in the 
water, and when he has reached the ground encumbers 
him with help .'' The notice which you have been pleased 
to take of my labors, had it been earlier, had been kind ; 
but it has been delayed till I am indifferent, and cannot 
enjoy it ; till I am solitary, and cannot impart it ; till I 
am known, and do not want it. I hope it is no very cyni- 
cal asperity not to confess obligations where no benefit 
has been received, or to be unwilling that the public 
should consider me as owing that to a patron which 
Providence has enabled me to do for myself." 



I 



SAMUEL JOHNSON. 295 

Johnson defined a lexicographer as a " harmless drudge." 
This is fairly descriptive of the nature of his work, which 
consisted in collecting, defining, and illustrating all the 
words in the language. Judged by present high stand- 
ards, the work is defective. Scientific etymology was not 
yet in existence. But it far surpassed anything before it 
and was received with enthusiasm by the English people. 

Johnson's energies were not wholly expended on the 

drudgery of the "Dictionary." In 1749 he pubhshed 

another imitation of Juvenal, entitled the "Vanity of 

Human Wishes." It is written with much vigor, and 

in passages surpasses the original. The vanity of 

the warrior's pride is illustrated by Charles XII. of 

Sweden : — 

'' He left a name at which the world grew pale 
To point a moral, or adorn a tale." 

To the ambitious scholar he says : — 

" Deign on the passing world to turn thine eyes, 
And pause awhile from letters to be wise ; 
There mark what ills the scholar's life assail, 
Toil, envy, want, the patron, and the jail. 
See nations, slowly wise, and meanly just, 
To buried merit raise the tardy bust. 
If dreams yet flatter, once again attend, 
Hear Lydiat's life and Galileo's end." 

The poem brought him little besides a growing reputa:- 
tion. A few days after the publication of the "Vanity of 
Human Wishes " his tragedy of " Irene " was brought 
upon the stage by Garrick. It was heard with respectful 
attention. After running nine nights, it was withdrawn, 
and has never since been acted. "When Johnson writes 



296 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



1 



tragedy," said Garrick, "■ declamation roars and passion 
sleeps ; when Shakespeare wrote he dipped his pen in 
his own heart." Johnson took the failure of his tragedy 
with philosophical calmness. It brought him all together 
about three hundred pounds, in which no doubt he found 
substantial consolation. 

In 1750 he began the publication of the Rambler, a 
periodical resembling the Spectator. It appeared twice a 
week for two years. The range of subjects is wide and 
interesting. The prevailing tone is serious and moral. 
Though coldly received at the time of first issue, yet 
afterward collected into volumes, the papers had an 
extraordinary circulation. No fewer than ten editions 
appeared during the author's life. 

His style is characterized by an artificial stateliness and 
a preponderance of Latin words. " I have labored," he 
says in the closing paper, ''to refine our language to 
grammatical purity and to clear it from colloquial bar- 
barisms, licentious idioms, and irregular combinations. 
Something, perhaps, I have added to the elegance of its 
construction and something to the harmony of its ca- 
dence." He lacked the delicate touch of Addison. Of 
his moral aim he says : '' The essays professedly serious, 
if I have been able to execute my own intentions, will be 
found exactly conformable to the precepts of Christianity, 
without any accommodation to the licentiousness and levity 
of the present age. I therefore look back on this part of 
my work with pleasure, which no praise or blame of man 
can diminish or augment. I shall never envy the honors 
which wit and learning obtain in any other cause, if I can 
be numbered among the writers who have given ardor to 



SAMUEL JOHNSON. 297 

virtue and confidence to truth." The Rambler is a 
delightful book with which to spend an occasional half 
hour. It is filled with sober wisdom, and some of the 
papers are singularly beautiful. 

In 1759 Johnson's mother died at Lichfield at the age 
of ninety. He was still involved in financial troubles. In 
order to gain money for her funeral expenses, he wrote in 
a single week the story of '* Rasselas." It is his most 
popular work. Its main theme is announced in the open- 
ing sentence: "Ye who listen with credulity to the whis- 
pers of fancy, and pursue with eagerness the phantoms of 
hope ; who expect that age will perform the promises of 
youth, and that the deficiencies of the present day will be 
supplied by the morrow ; attend to the history of Rasselas, 
prince of Abyssinia." The story makes no pretensions to 
historical accuracy ; the Abyssinians brought before us 
are in reality highly cultivated Europeans. ' But it is 
written with Johnson's peculiar eloquence and exhibits 
fully his moral and reflective temperament. 

The year 1762 saw an important change in Johnson's 
condition. He received a pension of three hundred pounds 
a year. In his '* Dictionary " he had defined a pension as 
*' generally understood to mean pay given to a state hire- 
ling for treason to his country." Being assured that he 
did not come within the definition, and that the pension 
was accorded in recognition of past services, he accepted 
it after some hesitation. It placed him for the first time 
in circumstances of independence, and allowed him to in- 
dulge his constitutional indolence. He talked at night 
and slept during the day, rising at two in the afternoon. 
" I cannot now curse the House of Hanover," he said in 



298 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

appreciative reference to his pension ; "■ but I think that 
the pleasure of cursing the House of Hanover and drink- 
ing King James's health, all amply overbalanced by three 
hundred pounds a year." 

No longer driven by necessity, his pen became less busy. 
His principal influence was exerted through conversation. 
His colloquial powers were of the highest order. In the 
Club, which included, among others, Goldsmith, Burke, 
Reynolds, and Garrick, he was easily first. The opinion 
of the Club carried great weight ; and for a time his posi- 
tion might be described as literary dictator of England. 
Meeting the king one day in the royal library, he was 
asked by his Majesty if he intended to give the world any 
more of his compositions. " I think I have written enough," 
said Johnson. "And I should think so too," replied his 
Majesty, "if you had not written so well" — a compliment 
of which Johnson was very proud. 

In 1773 Johnson made a journey to the Hebrides. He 
was kindly received on his journey through Scotland. His 
prejudices against the Scotch were softened to a harmless 
foible. He made inquiries concerning the poems of Ossian. 
He denounced Macpherson's work as a forgery. Receiv- 
ing a furious and threatening letter from the author of 
" Ossian," Johnson replied : " I hope I shall never be 
deterred from detecting what I think a cheat by the 
menaces of a ruffian." In anticipation of personal vio- 
lence, he provided himself with a heavy stick, of which, 
had occasion offered, he would doubtless have made vig- 
orous use. 

The results of this trip are given in a pleasant volume 
entitled "Journey to the Hebrides," The style is, as usual, 



SAMUEL JOHNSON. 299 

elaborate and stately. Writing to an intimate friend from 
the Hebrides, he says with colloquial ease and pith, *' When 
we were taken upstairs, a dirty fellow bounced out of the 
bed on which one of us was to lie." In the book this inci- 
dent is translated into his artificial literary style as follows : 
" Out of one of the beds on which we were to repose, 
started up, at our entrance, a man black as a Cyclops from 
the forge." 

In 1777 a number of London booksellers decided to pub- 
lish a collection of EngHsh poetry. Johnson was asked to 
prepare the introductory biographical and critical sketches. 
The result was his " Lives of the Poets," the work, perhaps, 
by which he will be longest known. In the judgment of 
Macaulay it is more interesting than any novel. In many 
respects it is an admirable production. Without much 
patient research after biographical material, it gives the 
leading facts in the life of each poet, together with a mas- 
terly analysis of his character and a critical examination 
of his works. It is less ponderous in style than his earlier 
writings. That it is independent in judgment goes with- 
out saying. His criticisms, -always worth attention, are not 
always just. He was sometimes influenced by his preju- 
dices, as in the case of Milton and Gray ; and he attached 
too much importance to the logical and didactic elements 
of poetry. He had no ear for the music of poetry ; and 
that subtle, ethereal quaUty, which raises it above prose, 
could not be grasped by his clumsy critical principles. 

One of the great charms of the " Lives of the Poets " 
consists in the shrewd observations upon Hfe and character 
with which the book abounds. Discussing Dryden's finan- 
cial difficulties, he remarks : '' It is well known that he sel- 



300 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

dom lives frugally who lives by chance. Hope is always 
liberal, and they that trust her promises make little scruple 
of revelling to-day on the profits of the morrow." The 
work contains the materials for a collection of maxims 
as interesting as those of La Rochefoucauld and much 
more truthful. "Very near to admiration," he says, 
"is the wish to admire." The rich treasures of wis- 
dom, which long experience and reflection had stored in 
his spacious mind, are scattered through his pages with 
lavish hand. 

Much of interest in Johnson's life is necessarily omitted : 
the strange crowd of dependents he maintained at his 
home ; his relation with the Thrales ; a great store of in- 
teresting anecdote preserved to us by his satellite Boswell. 
Though for a time oppressed with a dread of death, he 
met it, as the end drew near, with manly courage. In his 
last sickness he was visited by many of his old friends. 
" I am afraid," said Burke, "that so many of us must be 
oppressive to you." — " No, sir, it is not so," replied John- 
son ; " and I must be in a wretched state indeed when 
your company would not be a delight to me." — "You have 
always been too good to me," said Burke, with a breaking 
voice, as he parted from his old friend for the last time. 
Now and then there was a flash of the old vigor and 
humor. Describing a man who sat up with him, he said : 
"Sir, the fellow's an idiot; he's as awkward as a turnspit 
when first put into the wheel, and as sleepy as a dormouse." 
His last words were a benediction. A young lady begged 
his blessing. " God bless you, my dear," he said with in- 
finite tenderness. Nothing could have been more charac- 
teristic of his great, benevolent heart. He peacefully died 



SAMUEL JOHNSON. 3OI 

Dec. 13, 1784. He had once playfully said to Goldsmith, 
when visiting the Poets' Corner of Westminster Abbey, 

" Forsitan et nostrum nomen miscebitur istis.'" ^ 

The prediction and the wish were fulfilled. And among 
the wise and great who repose there, there is no one whose 
massive intellect, honest worth, and great heart command 
our admiration and love in a higher degree than Samuel 
Johnson. 

1 Perhaps our names will be mingled with them. 



302 ENGLISH LITERATURE, 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

A STRANGE combination of weakness and strength, of 
genius and folly. "Inspired idiot" is the terrific phrase 
with which Horace Walpole once described him. It is a 
gross caricature indeed, but having truth enough at bottom 
to be perpetuated. Goldsmith belonged to a literary club, 
the members of which occasionally dined together. Gold- 
smith was usually one of the last to arrive. While waiting 
for him one day, the company playfully composed a num- 
ber of epitaphs on '' the late Mr. Goldsmith." The epitaph 
by Garrick, the celebrated actor, has been preserved as a 
happy hit : — 

" Here lies poet Goldsmith, for shortness called Noll, 
Who wrote lilce an angel and talked like poor Poll." 

There are other anecdotes illustrating Goldsmith's awk- 
wardness in conversation. He greatly lacked self-confi- 
dence and had a faculty for blundering. His friends 
sometimes took advantage of his weaknesses and for 
amusement tricked him into saying and doing absurd 
things. He has suffered also from thick-headed critics, 
who have sometimes misunderstood his delicate humor. 
Boswell, who was no friendly critic, but who reported facts 
truthfully, says : '' It has been generally circulated and be- 
lieved that Goldsmith was a mere fool in conversation ; but 
in truth, this has been greatly exaggerated." In spite of 
his deficiencies, he sometimes got the better of Dr. John- 



I 




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Published, irru. 



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1 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 303 

son, the clearest and strongest talker of his time. Talking 
of fables once, Goldsmith remarked that the animals intro- 
duced seldom talked in character. " For instance," he said, 
'* take the fable of the little fishes who saw birds fly over 
their heads, and envying them, petitioned Jupiter to be 
changed into birds. The skill consists in making them 
talk like little fishes." Dr. Johnson took exception to the 
remark. *'Ah, Doctor," he replied, "this is not so easy 
as you may think; for if you were to make little fishes 
talk, they would talk like whales." 

But we turn to his life. Scarcely any other English 
author has put into his writings so much of his character 
and experience. Oliver Goldsmith was born at Pallas in 
the county of Longford, Ireland, in 1728, the son of a Protes- 
tant clergyman. About two years later his father moved to 
the village of Lissoy in the county of Westmeath, where 
he enjoyed a better living. An unusual interest is con- 
nected with that home. The amiable piety, learned sim- 
plicity, and guileless wisdom of his father are portrayed in 
the immortal ''Vicar of Wakefield." It was a fireside 
where a Christian benevolence was inculcated and prac- 
tised. The memories of this home never left Goldsmith ; 
and years afterward, in his " Deserted Village," he gave 
a famous description of " the village preacher's modest 
mansion " : — 

" A man he was to alj the country dear, 
And passing rich with forty pounds a year ; 
Remote from towns he ran his godly race, 
Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change his place." 

At the age of six years Goldsmith was sent to the village 
school taught by Thomas Byrne, an old soldier with a large 



304 ENGLISH LIT ERA TURE. 

stock of stories. Of him also we have a portrait in the 
"Deserted Village": — 

" A man severe he was, and stern to view, 
I knew him well, and every truant knew : 
Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace 
The day's disasters in his morning face. 
Full well they laughed with counterfeited glee 
At all his jokes, for many a joke had he ; 
Full well the busy whisper circling round, 
Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned." 

As a pupil he was dull — a stupid blockhead he was 
thought to be ; but his amiability and thoughtless gener- 
osity, which characterized him all through life, made him 
popular with his schoolmates. An incident that occurred 
in his sixteenth year not only throws light upon his char- 
acter, but also shows the origin of his most famous com- 
edy. He was returning home from Edgeworthstown, 
where he had been attending school. He had borrowed a 
horse for the journey and received from a friend a guinea. 
He at once began to put on airs and to affect the gentle- 
man. Arriving in a village at nightfall, he inquired for 
the best house in the place and was directed by a wag to 
the private house of a gentleman of fortune. Accordingly 
he rode up to what he supposed to be an inn, ordered his 
horse to be taken to the stable, walked into the parlor, 
seated himself by the fire, and demanded what he could 
liave for supper. The gentleman of the house, discover- 
ing his mistake, concluded to humor him, and gave him 
the freedom of the house for the evening. He was highly 
elated. When supper was served, he insisted that the 
landlord, his wife, and daughter should eat with him, and 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 305 

ordered a bottle of wine to crown the repast. When next 
morning he discovered his blunder, his sense of humilia- 
tion can easily be imagined. With the literary instinct 
that turned all his experiences to account, he dramatized 
this incident many years afterward in " She Stoops to 
Conquer; or, The Mistakes of a Night." Throughout his 
life, as in this case, the possession of money made a fool 
of him. 

In his seventeenth year Goldsmith entered Trinity Col- 
lege, Dublin, as a sizar. This relation was naturally 
repugnant to his timid and sensitive nature. His tutor 
was ill-tempered and harsh ; some studies, especially 
mathematics and logic, were distasteful to him. His 
social nature betrayed him into a neglect of his studies, 
and his love of fun got him into trouble. Having once 
gained a prize of thirty shillings, he gave a dance at his 
room to some young men and women of the city. This 
was a violation of the* college rules ; and his tutor, 
attracted by the sound of the fiddle, rushed to the scene 
of festivity, gave Goldsmith a thrashing, and turned his 
guests out of doors. 

An anecdote, belonging to this period, illustrates the 
tender heart and inconsiderate benevolence that charac- 
terized his whole life. He had been invited to breakfast 
by a college friend, and, failing to make his appearance, 
was visited at his room. There he was found in bed, 
buried in feathers up to his chin. The evening before, 
a woman with five children had told him a pitiful tale of 
her distress and need. It was too much for his sym- 
pathetic nature ; and bringing the woman to the college 
gate, he gave her the blankets off his bed and a part of his 



306 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

clothing to sell and buy bread. Getting cold in the night, 
he ripped open his bed and buried himself in the feathers. 

In due course he took his bachelor's degree and returned 
to his home. It had been sadly changed by the death of 
his father. The next two or three years were spent in a 
desultory way ; while ostensibly preparing to take orders, 
he was in reality spending his time in miscellaneous read- 
ing and rustic convivialities. He did not like the clerical 
profession. " To be obliged to wear a long wig when I 
liked a short one," he says in explanation of his antipathy, 
" or a black coat when I generally dressed in brown, I 
thought such a restraint upon my liberty that I absolutely 
rejected the proposal." 

His fondness for gay dress was a weakness throughout 
his life and more than once exposed him to ridicule. 
When the time for his examination came, he appeared 
before the Bishop of Elphin arrayed in scarlet breeches. 
This silly breach of propriety cost him the good opinion of 
the bishop and led to his rejection. 

Then followed a succession of undertakings and failures 
without parallel. He became tutor in a good family and 
lost his position on account of a quarrel at cards. He 
then resolved to emigrate to America and left for Dublin 
mounted on a good horse and having thirty guineas in his 
pocket. In six weeks he returned to his mother's door in 
a condition not unlike that of the prodigal son. Every 
penny was gone. He explained that the ship on which 
he had engaged passage had sailed while he was at a 
party of pleasure. The ship had been waiting for a favor- 
able wind; "and you know, mother," he said, ''that I 
could not command the elements." 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 307 

His uncle Contarine, who was one of the few that had 
not lost all confidence in him, gave him fifty pounds with 
which to go to London for the purpose of studying law. 
He reached Dublin on his way ; but unfortunately he met 
an old acquaintance, who allured him into a gambling 
house. He came out penniless. 

He was next advised to try medicine ; and a small purse 
having been made up for him, he set out for Edinburgh. 
He remained there eighteen months, during which he 
picked up a little medical science. But most of his time 
was spent in convivial habits. With gaming, feasting, 
and reckless generosity, he was often brought into financial 
difficulties. 

Then he went to Leyden, ostensibly for the purpose of 
completing his medical studies, but really, there is reason 
to believe, for the purpose of gratifying his roving dis- 
position. He spent a year in that city with his usual 
improvidence. A friend provided him with money to go 
to Paris. The mania for tulip culture still prevailed in 
Holland. One day, wandering through a garden, Gold- 
smith suddenly recollected that his uncle Contarine, his 
steadfast benefactor, was a tulip fancier. Here, then, was 
an opportunity to show his appreciation. A number of 
choice and costly bulbs were purchased ; and not till after 
he had paid for them did he reflect that he had spent all 
the money designed for his travelling expenses. In this 
extremity he set out on foot with his flute. " I had some 
knowledge of music," says the Philosophic Vagabond in 
the ''Vicar of Wakefield," ''with a tolerable voice; I now 
turned what was once my amusement into a present means 
of subsistence. I passed among the harmless peasants of 



3o8 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

Flanders and among such of the French as were poor 
enough to be merry ; for I ever found them sprightly in 
proportion to their wants. Whenever I approached a 
peasant's house, I played one of my merriest tunes, and 
that procured me not only a lodging, but subsistence for 
the next day." In this way he was able to make the tour 
of Europe, visiting Flanders, France, Switzerland, Ger- 
many, and Italy. At Padua he is said to have taken his 
medical degree. These travels, as we shall see, were 
afterward to be turned to good account. 

In 1756 he returned to England. "You may easily 
imagine," he wrote to a friend afterward, "what difficul- 
ties I had to encounter, left as I was without friends, 
recommendations, money, or impudence, and that in a 
country where being an Irishman was sufficient to keep 
me unemployed. Many in such circumstances would have 
had recourse to a friar's cord or the suicide's halter. But, 
with all my follies, I had principle to resist the one and 
resolution to combat the other." 

He went to London, where for the next several years he 
led an existence miserable enough. He became succes- 
sively an usher in a school, an apothecary's assistant, a 
practising physician — and failed in them all. At last, 
after other unlucky ventures, he settled down to the 
drudgery of a literary hack. From this humiliating sta- 
tion he was lifted by the force of genius alone. 

He began by writing for reviews and magazines, and 
compiling easy histories. His first serious undertaking 
was "An Inquiry into the State of Learning in Europe," 
with which his career as an author may be said to begin. 
His work gradually gained recognition and brought him 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 309 

better pay. His circle of acquaintance widened and 
included the most distinguished literary talent of his 
time. Burke had discovered his genius ; Percy, after- 
ward Bishop of Dromore, sought him out in his garret; 
and most important of all, Johnson, the great Cham, as 
he has been humorously styled, sought his acquaintance. 
He had met Reynolds and Hogarth. In 1763 he became 
one of the original nine members of the Club, which in- 
cluded among others Johnson, Reynolds, and Burke, and 
to which were added subsequently Garrick and Boswell. 
He was thus brought into intimate fellowship with the 
choicest minds of the English metropolis. 

Having attracted their notice by the humor, grace, and 
picturesqueness of his style in writing, he won their affec- 
tion by the guilelessness and amiabihty of his character. 
There was a charm in his personality that triumphed 
over his weaknesses and drew the strongest and best men 
to him in tender friendship. That same charm exists in 
his works ; and with the possible exception of Addison, 
he is, what Thackeray claims for him, " the most beloved 
of English writers." 

The lesson of economy he never learned. His growing 
income had enabled him to take better lodgings. But 
in 1764 we find him in arrears for his board and in the 
hands of the sheriff. He sent for Johnson. *' I sent him 
a guinea," says Johnson, ''and promised to come to him 
directly. I accordingly went as soon as I was dressed 
and found that his landlady had arrested him for rent, 
at which he was in a violent passion. I perceived that 
he had already changed my guinea and got a bottle of 
Madeira and a glass before him. I put the cork into 



310 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

the bottle, desired he would be calm, and began to talk 
to him of the means by which he might be extricated. 
He then told me that he had a novel ready for the press, 
which he produced to me. I looked into it and saw its 
merit ; told the landlady I should return soon ; and hav- 
ing gone to a bookseller, sold it for sixty pounds. I 
brought Goldsmith the money, and he discharged his 
rent, not without rating his landlady in a high tone for 
having treated him so ill." But speedily relenting, he 
called her to share in a bowl of punch. 

The novel in question was no other than the "Vicar 
of Wakefield" — "one of the most delicious morsels of 
fictitious composition," justly observes Sir Walter Scott, 
"on which the human mind was ever employed." The 
plot is indeed faulty ; but the charm of the characters, the 
ludicrousness of the situations, the grace of style, and 
the delicacy of humor make it a book which we read with 
delight in youth and return to with pleasure in maturity 
and old age. Notwithstanding its high rank as a work 
of genius, the stupid publisher kept it in hand two years 
before venturing to give it to the public. 

In 1764, while the "Vicar of Wakefield" was being 
held by the publisher. Goldsmith pubHshed a poem called 
the "Traveller." It was the first work to which he at- 
tached his name. The time was favorable for its appear- 
ance, inasmuch as the British Muse was doing but little. 
Johnson kindly lent his assistance in bringing it out, 
reading over the proof-sheets, and adding here and there 
a line. The merits of the poem were soon recognized, 
and the general opinion agreed that nothing better had 
appeared since the time of Pope. Goldsmith dedicated it 
to his brother : — 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 31I 

" Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see, 
My heart untravelled fondly turns to thee ; 
Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain, 
And drags at each remove a lengthening chain." 

It embodies the observations of his tour on the Con- 
tinent; but — 

" Vain, very vain, my weary search to find 
That bliss which only centres in the mind : 
Why have I strayed from pleasure and repose 
To seek a good each government bestows ? 
In every government, though tyrants reign, 
Though tyrant kings, or tyrant laws restrain, 
How small, of all that human hearts endure, 
That part which laws or kings can cause or cure ? 
Still to ourselves in every place consigned, 
Our own felicity we make or find ; 
With secret course, which no loud storms annoy, 
Glides the smooth current of domestic joy." 

The Earl of Northumberland read the poem and was 
greatly pleased with it. He sent for Goldsmith ; and 
after stating that he had been appointed Lord Lieutenant 
of Ireland, he expressed a willingness to do the poet any 
kindness in his power. Goldsmith's genius for blundering 
did not desert him. He said that he had a brother in 
Ireland that needed help ; but as for himself, he did not 
place much dependence in the promises of the great and 
looked to the booksellers for a support. 

Goldsmith continued to do hack writing for the book- 
sellers, but did not neglect original composition. In 1768 
appeared his comedy of " The Good-Natured Man." It 
was refused by Garrick, notwithstanding the intercession 
of Reynolds, and was brought out at Covent Garden. It 



312 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

did not gain the applause it merited, but as a financial 
venture it was a success. It was acted for nine nights ; 
and, including the copyright, it brought the author no less 
than five hundred pounds. That was a dangerous sum 
for a man of his improvident habits. He at once rented 
elegant lodgings, at a cost of four hundred pounds, and 
gave dinners to Johnson, Reynolds, and other friends of 
note. His chambers were often the scene of gay 
festivities ; and Blackstone, who occupied rooms immedi- 
ately below, and was engaged on his " Commentaries," 
used to complain of the racket overhead. At this rate his 
means were, of course, soon exhausted. 

His labors for the booksellers includfed his " Animated 
Nature," " History of Rome," " History of England," and 
" History of Greece." These compilations were hardly 
worthy of his genius, but they brought him the means of 
livelihood. " I cannot afford to court the draggle-tail 
muses," he once said ; "they would let me starve ; but by 
my other labors I can make shift to eat, and drink, and 
have good clothes." But even his compilations bore the 
trace of his genius in the clear arrangement of facts and 
in his felicitous mode of treatment. ** Whether, indeed, 
we take him as a poet, as a comic writer, or as an his- 
torian," declared Johnson, *'he stands in the first class." 

In 1770 appeared the " Deserted Village." In this he 
cast a glory around his native village, to which, as he 
approached the end of his Ufe, his mind reverted with 
peculiar tenderness. The political economy presented is 
indeed false ; but the pictures the poem brings before us 
are as enduring as the language. Every one is acquainted 
with Paddy Byrne : — 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 313 

"In arguing, too, the parson owned his skill; 
For e'en though vanquished, he could argue still." 

And then the village preacher — a portrait of Gold- 
smith's father and his brother Henry. It is one of the 
most delightful descriptions in the English language, 
rivalled alone by Chaucer's parson: — 

" And as a bird each fond endearment tries 
To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, 
He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, 
Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way." 

The poem was at once successful and has since retained, 
through all changes of taste, its place as a classic. 

In 1773 he gave his comedy, "She Stoops to Conquer," 
to the public. The plot turns on an incident suggested by 
his blunder as a schoolboy. The theatrical manager pre- 
dicted a complete failure, and Goldsmith was in great dis- 
tress. But the night of the first presentation the theatre 
was filled ; and the humorous dialogue and the ridiculous 
incidents kept the audience in a roar of laughter. It has 
since retained its place on the stage. 

During the last years of his life Goldsmith's income was 
about four hundred pounds a year. With a little economy 
this would have enabled him to live in comfort and ease. 
But his extravagance and heedless benevolence left him in 
debt. 

The end came April 3, 1784. When the news was 
brought to Burke, he burst into tears. Sir Joshua Rey- 
nolds laid aside his pencil. But more significant than all 
was the lamentation of the old and the infirm on his stairs 
— helpless creatures to whose supplications he had never 



314 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

turned a deaf ear. Johnson wrote his epitaph, in which 
it is said that he ** left scarcely any style of writing un- 
touched, and touched nothing that he did not adorn." In 
the words of Thackeray : " Think of him reckless, thriftless, 
vain if you like — but merciful, gentle, generous, full of 
love and pity. He passes out of our life and goes to 
render his account beyond it. Think of the poor pen- 
sioners weeping at his grave; think of the noble spirits 
that admired and deplored him ; think of the righteous pen 
that wrote his epitaph — and the wonderful and unanimous 
response of affection with which the world has paid back 
the love he gave it. His humor delighting us still; his 
song fresh and beautiful as when he first charmed with it ; 
his words in all our mouths ; his very weaknesses beloved 
and familiar — his benevolent spirit seems still to smile 
upon us ; to do gentle kindnesses ; to succor with sweet 
charity ; to caress, to sooth, and forgive ; to plead with the 
fortunate for the unhappy and the poor." 




From a painting by Sir Joshua Reynolds. 




EDWARD GIBBON. 315 



EDWARD GIBBON. 

The treatment of any great historical subject demands at 
once wealth and leisure. It is only under these conditions 
that the historian, no matter what may be his genius, is 
able to collect and digest the large amount of material that 
now enters into our best historical works. The most emi- 
nent historians of modern times have been men of ample 
means ; and aspiring genius, if fettered by poverty, had 
better seek its conquests in fiction or poetry rather than in 
history. 

Gibbon is chief of the historians of the eighteenth cen- 
tury. Hume and Robertson are generally classed with 
him, though their works have, in large measure, been su- 
perseded. Taken together, they formed the modern school 
of history. Previous historical writing was chiefly imagi- 
native. It was concerned with a pleasing narrative rather 
than with actual truth. But the historical writing of the 
eighteenth century became more philosophical. It took 
broader views, inquired more after causes, and carefully 
traced results. It aimed to recreate the past, and to this 
end it rehed less upon the imagination than upon research. 
The basis of Gibbon's great work is a scholarship, the 
breadth and accuracy of which command our admiration. 

Not the least interesting and instructive of Gibbon's 
writings is his "Autobiography," written, as he tells us, 
for his own amusement. He affirms the unblushing truth 



3l6 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

of his narrative; and though this maybe questioned, he 
has undoubtedly presented a tolerably complete and faith- 
ful picture of himself. He felt what he regarded as a 
natural interest in his ancestors, and traced them back 
to the early part of the fourteenth century, when they 
had landed possessions in the county of Kent. One of 
them was architect to Edward III. and built ''the'stately 
castle of Queensborough " ; another was Lord High Treas- 
urer in the reign of Henry VI. ; still another resided for 
a time in Virginia, where, observing the tattooing of the 
Indians, he ''exceedingly wondered and concluded that 
heraldry was ingrafted naturally into the sense of the 
human race." His immediate ancestors were tradesmen 
in London, where they acquired considerable wealth. 
His father was a member of Parliament, where he acted 
with the Tories, to whom "he gave many a vote," and 
with whom " he drank many a bottle." 

Edward Gibbon was born in the county of Surrey, 
April 27, 1737, the oldest of seven children and the only 
one to survive infancv. His own health was so feeble 
that his life was often despaired of. He was saved only 
by the tender assiduity of a maiden aunt, whom he ever 
afterward held in grateful remembrance. " A life of 
celibacy transferred her vacant affection to her sister's 
first child ; my weakness excited her pity ; her attach- 
ment was fortified by labor and success ; and if there 
be any, as I trust there are some, who rejoice that I 
live, to that dear and excellent woman they must hold 
themselves indebted." 

He mastered the arts of reading, writing, and arith- 
metic at an early age. He showed great precocity in 



EDWARD GIBBON. 317 

figures ; and it was his opinion that, had he persevered, 
he might have acquired some fame in mathematical 
studies. His earUest tutor was the Rev. John Kirby, an 
author of some reputation. In his ninth year he entered 
the school at Kingston-upon-Thames. His delicate rear- 
ing had prepared him neither for the strict discipline 
nor the rougher games of the school. " By the common 
methods of discipline," he says, '*at the expense of many 
tears and some blood, I purchased the knowledge of Latin 
syntax." But his studies were interrupted by sickness, 
and after a real or nominal residence of two years at 
Kingston School he was finally recalled by the death of 
his mother. 

He again passed under the care of his devoted aunt, to 
whom he ascribes his early and invincible love of reading, 
which seemed to him more precious than the treasures of 
India. At Kingston School he had already become 
familiar with Pope's " Homer " and the " Arabian 
Nights"; and he now eagerly perused poetry and ro- 
mance, history and travels. In 1749 he entered West- 
minster School, which, he remarks, did " not exactly 
correspond with the precept of a Spartan king, * that 
the child should be instructed in the arts which will be 
useful to the man.' " His progress was not rapid. '' In 
the space of two years," to borrow his own w^ords, "inter- 
rupted by danger and debility, I painfully climbed into the 
third form ; and my riper age was left to acquire the 
beauties of the Latin and the rudiments of the Greek 
tongue." 

In his fifteenth year his physical infirmities suddenly 
disappeared, and he went to Oxford " with a stock of 



3l8 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

erudition that might have puzzled a doctor, and a degree 
of ignorance of which a schoolboy would have been 
ashamed." His attainments in history were astonishing. 
He had read Herodotus, Xenophon, and Tacitus in trans- 
lations ; he had perused a long list of modern historians, 
whose names are now forgotten ; he had swallowed with 
voracious appetite descriptions of India and China, of 
Mexico and Peru. It was at this period that he was intro- 
duced to the historic scenes that afterward engaged so 
many years of his life. He studied the lives of the suc- 
cessors of Constantine and the story of the barbarian 
invasions. He became interested in Mahomet and his 
Saracens. " Before I was sixteen," he says, " I had ex- 
hausted all that could be learned in English of the Arabs 
and Persians, the Tartars and Turks." 

Gibbon's sojourn at the university was fruitless in learn- 
ing. In a most scathing criticism he defiantly arraigns 
Oxford for its faulty organization and its incredibly care- 
less administration. " To the University of Oxford," he 
says, " I acknowledge no obligation ; and she will as 
cheerfully renounce me for a son as I am willing to dis- 
claim her for a mother. I spent fourteen months at Mag- 
dalen College ; they proved the fourteen months the 
most idle and unprofitable of my whole life." He re- 
ceived scarcely any instruction ; he was not even directed 
in his studies and reading ; and, worst of all, no restraint 
whatever was placed on his tendencies to idleness and 
dissipation. As a gentleman-commoner, he was admitted 
to the Society of the Fellows of the University ; but he 
found that *' from the toil of reading or thinking or writ- 
ing they had absolved their consciences ; and the first 



EDWARD GIBBON. 319 

shoots of learning and ingenuity withered on the ground, 
without yielding any fruits to the owners or the public." 

But his idle life at the university was not sufficient to 
extinguish his literary bent. During a long vacation his 
taste for reading revived ; and without original learning or 
skill in the art of composition, he resolved to write a book. 
His subject was ''The Age of Sesostris " ; and in the 
author's mature judgment it was most notable for its 
ambitious efforts in chronology. He speedily recognized 
its imperfections of style and treatment, and this humili- 
ating discovery he notes as ''the first symptom of taste." 

His stay at Oxford was cut short by his conversion to 
the Church of Rome. From childhood he had been fond 
of religious disputation. His faith in Protestantism was 
first shaken by Middleton's "Free Inquiry," which ap- 
proached the borders of infidelity. Bossuet's famous 
works, the "Exposition of the Catholic Doctrine" and 
the " History of Protestant Variations," achieved his con- 
version ; and surely, he adds, " I fell by a noble hand." 
In 1753 he united with the Roman Catholic Church. His 
fervor for a moment raised him above worldly considera- 
tions ; and in a letter, " written with all the pomp, the 
dignity, and self-satisfaction of a martyr," he announced 
his change of faith to his father. 

After the first outbreak of indignation, his father lost 
no time in forming a new plan of education, and in devis- 
ing a method by which his son might be cured of his 
" spiritual malady." Accordingly, young Gibbon was sent 
to Lausanne, where he was placed under the care of M. 
Pavilliard, a Calvinistic clergyman of rare tact and good 
sense. Here he passed the next five years of his life. 



320 . ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

which proved the most important of all in his intellec- 
tual development. He studied the French language with 
such diligence that it became his spontaneous vehicle of 
thought and afterward imparted to his great work a 
Gallic tinge. 

Under the wise direction of his instructor, who had 
won his confidence and respect, he entered upon a seri- 
ous course of study, which included the Latin and Greek 
classics, history, logic, mathematics, philosophy, and juris- 
prudence. His ardor was extraordinary. "The desire 
of prolonging my time," he says, "gradually confirmed 
the salutary habit of early rising, to which I have always 
adhered." Among the books that contributed to form 
the historian of the Roman Empire, he particularly men- 
tions Pascal's " Provincial Letters." His mathematical 
studies were carried as far as conic sections. Then he 
relinquished the study. " Nor can I lament," he adds, 
" that I desisted before my mind was hardened by the 
habit of rigid demonstration, so destructive of the finer 
feelings of moral evidence, which must, however, deter- 
mine the actions and opinions of our lives." 

Meanwhile the main purpose of his sojourn at Lau- 
sanne was not forgotten. The various points of Roman 
Catholic doctrine were, from time to time, brought under 
discussion ; and naturally the superior skill of M. Pavil- 
liard made itself felt. But Gibbon's mind was itself 
undergoing a change. "I am willing," he writes, "to 
allow him a handsome share of the honor of my con- 
version ; yet I must observe that it was principally ef- 
fected by my private reflections." Finally, "the various 
articles of the Romish creed disappeared like a dream ; 



EDWARD GIBBON. 321 

and after a full conviction, on Christmas Day, 1754, I re- 
ceived the sacrament in the church of Lausanne. It was 
here that I suspended my religious inquiries, acquiescing 
with implicit belief in the tenets and mysteries which are 
adopted by the general consent of Catholics and Protes- 
tants." 

While at Lausanne he made the acquaintance of Vol- 
taire, whose writings appear to have exerted no small 
influence upon him. He listened with admiration while 
the great Frenchman declaimed his verses on the stage. 
He frequented the theatre which Voltaire had opened for 
the representation of his plays ; and the pleasure derived 
from the French drama abated his idolatry, he tells us, 
" for the gigantic genius of Shakespeare, which is incul- 
cated, from infancy, as the first duty of an English- 
man." 

It was at this time that Gibbon met Mademoiselle 
Curchod, whose beauty, gifts, and culture at once won 
his heart. The attachment appears to have been mutual-; 
but, as events showed, he was far from being a heroic 
lover. For a time he indulged his dream of felicity ; 
"but on my return to England," to borrow his own frank 
narrative, " I soon discovered that my father would not 
hear of this strange alliance, and that without his con- 
sent I was myself destitute and helpless. After a pain- 
ful struggle I yielded to my fate : I sighed as a lover, I 
obeyed as a son ; my wound was insensibly healed by 
time, absence, and the, habits of a new life." And the 
young lady 1 She became the wife of Necker, the famous 
financier and minister of France, and the mother of the 
celebrated Madame de Stael. The tender memories of 



322 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

this early attachment never entirely vanished ; Gibbon 
and Madame Necker always remained friends. It is a 
tribute to his fidelity that, ** while he sighed as a lover and 
obeyed as a son," he never afterward thought of marry- 
ing any other. 

In 1758 he was called home. Though he looked for- 
ward with apprehension to meeting his father, he was 
kindly received as a man and friend. His relations with 
his stepmother, who was at first regarded with prejudice, 
at length became filial and tender. The next two years 
were pleasantly spent in London and at the country resi- 
dence of his father in Hampshire. His social circle in 
the metropolis at this time remained limited ; and fre- 
quently withdrawing from "crowds without company, 
and dissipation without pleasure," he stayed in his room 
with his books. '' I had not been endowed," he acknow- 
ledges, *' by art or nature with those happy gifts of con- 
fidence and address which unlock every door and every 
bosom." 

At his father's country residence he yielded still more 
to his studious habits. The library was considered his 
especial domain. To overcome the influence of his 
French training, he read Addison and Swift. He ad- 
mired the historical writings of Robertson, whose style he 
hoped some day to rival, and especially those of Hume, 
whose nameless graces filled him at once with delight and 
despair. It was at this time that he began, the formation 
of his own extensive library ; but he never bought a book 
for ostentation ; *' every volume before it was deposited on 
the shelf was either read or sufficiently examined." He 
made copious notes and abstracts of his extensive read- 



b 



EDWARD GIBBON. 323 

ing. He took but little interest in the amusements of 
the country. He seldom mounted a horse, was indiffer- 
ent to the sports of the chase, and even his philosophic 
walks were soon terminated by a shady bench, where he 
devoted himself to reading or meditation. 

Gibbon's first publication dates from this period. His 
*' Essai sur I'Etude de la Litterature " was published in 
London in 1761. It has been variously judged; but, 
owing to its foreign garb, it was more successful abroad 
than at home. '* In England," he tells us, "it was 
received with cold indifference, little read, and speedily 
forgotten ; a small impression was slowly dispersed ; the 
bookseller murmured, and the author (had his feelings 
been more exquisite) might have wept over the blunders 
and baldness of the English translation." But after the 
publication of his history, fifteen years later, he had the 
satisfaction of seeing a copy of the original edition of 
the "Essai" bring the fanciful price of thirty shillings. 

Shortly before the publication of the "Essai," in 1759, 
he entered the military service as a captain of militia and 
spent the next two years in camping, drilling, and march- 
ing in the southern counties of England. For a short 
time, in his enthusiasm, he thought of devoting himself to 
the profession of arms; but his "bloodless and inglorious 
campaigns " soon cured him of his military aspirations. 
The mode of life was uncongenial, and he lamented the 
time lost from his studies. Yet he recognized the benefits 
of his military experiences. It made him " an Englishman 
and a soldier " ; and what he especially valued, " the dis- 
cipline and evolution of a modern battalion gave him a 
clearer notion of the phalanx and legion ; and the captain 



324 ENGLISH LITERATURE, 

of the Hampshire grenadiers (the reader may smile) has 
not been useless to the historian of the Roman Empire." 

From youth, he informs us, he had aspired to the char- 
acter of a historian. This deep-seated ambition was not 
forgotten during the uncongenial distractions of military 
life. He was in search of a theme ; and in turn he 
thought of the expedition of Charles VHI. into Italy, the 
crusade of Richard I., the barons' war against King John, 
the life of Sir Phihp Sidney, and then of Sir Walter 
Raleigh. On some of these subjects he did no small 
amount of reading ; but none of them laid hold on him 
with irresistible attraction. It was not till his journey to 
Italy two years later that he found the subject that was 
long to engage the earnest labors of his maturest man- 
hood. "It was at Rome," he says, "on the 15th of 
October, 1764, as I sat musing amidst the ruins of the 
capitol, while the barefooted friars were singing vespers 
in the temple of Jupiter, that the idea of writing the 
decline and fall of the city first started to my mind." 

After the disbanding of the militia, in 1763, Gibbon 
spent the next two or three years in travel, during which 
he visited Paris, Switzerland, and Italy. He was charmed 
with the French capital, where the fame of his "Essai" 
gained him admission to the most cultivated literary circles. 
His association with D'Alembert, Diderot, Barthelemy, 
Helvetius, Baron d'Holbach, and others of the same scep- 
tical spirit, no doubt intensified his growing hostihty to 
Christianity. He assiduously studied the treasures of art 
that had been accumulated in Paris ; and without sacrificing 
the pleasures of society and of the drama, he diligently 
used his opportunities to promote his general culture. 



EDWARD GIBBON. 325 

He spent eleven months at Lausanne, where " the good 
PavilHard shed tears of joy as he embraced a pupil whose 
literary merit he might fairly impute to his own labors." 
Here, in preparation for his Italian journey, he made a 
laborious review of Italian history and literature, filling 
a large commonplace book with notes and remarks. 
After visiting the leading Italian cities, he went to Rome. 
** My temper," he says, " is not very susceptible of enthu- 
siasm, and the enthusiasm which I do not feel I scorn to 
affect. But, at the distance of twenty-five years, I can 
neither forget nor express the strong emotions which 
agitated my mind as I first approached and entered the 
eternal city.'' 

He returned to England in 1765, and the next five years 
he designates as the least satisfactory of his life. He 
annually attended the meeting of the militia at Southamp- 
ton, and rose to the rank of lieutenant-colonel ; but each 
year he was more and more disgusted with the inn, the 
wine, the company, and finally he resigned his empty 
commission. He lamented the absence of a vocation and 
his consequent idleness, while so many of his acquaintance 
were advancing with rapid steps in the various roads of 
honor and fortune. He began a history of Switzerland ; 
but soon becoming discouraged, he threw his manuscript 
aside and gave up the attempt. In 1770 he successfully 
controverted a fanciful interpretation which Bishop War- 
burton, in his " Divine Legation," had placed upon the 
sixth book of the " ^neid." " But I cannot forgive my- 
self," he said afterward, "the contemptuous treatment of a 
man who, with all his faults, was entitled to my esteem." 

After the death of his father, in 1770, he came into 



326 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



\ 



possession of a moderate estate, of which, on the whole, 
he made a judicious use. He estabUshed himself in Lon- 
don and divided his time between study and society. His 
circle of acquaintance was extended till it embraced nearly 
all the eminent men of his day. He joined the Literary 
Club, of which Johnson, Burke, Garrick, Reynolds, Gold- 
smith, and others were distinguished members. He now 
undertook the composition of the first volume of his His- 
tory, for which he had prepared himself by careful and 
elaborate research. "At the outset," he says, "all was 
dark and doubtful — even the title of the work, the true 
era of the decline and fall of the empire, the limits of the 
introduction, the division of the chapters, and the order 
of the narrative — and I was often tempted to cast away 
the labor of seven years. The style of an author should 
be the image of his mind, but the choice and command of 
language is the fruit of exercise. Many experiments were 
made before I could hit the middle tone between a dull 
chronicle and a rhetorical declamation ; three times did I 
compose the first chapter, and twice the second and third, 
before I was tolerably satisfied with their effect." The 
first volume appeared in 1776 and was received with great 
applause. Its excellence of matter and style was almost 
universally recognized, and the author suddenly found 
himself famous. 

Two years before, while engaged on his History, he 
had been elected to a seat in Parliament, of which he re- 
mained a member for nearly a decade. There is nothing 
in his parliamentary career to add to his fame. His timid- 
ity, as well as the weakness of his voice, prevented him 
from becoming an orator. " After a fleeting illusive 



EDWARD GIBBON. 32/ 

hope," he says, ''prudence condemned me to acquiesce in 
the humble station of a mute." In the conflict between 
Great Britain and America, he "supported, with many a 
sincere and silent vote, the rights, though not perhaps the 
interests, of the mother country." While his career in 
Parliament was inglorious, it was not valueless to him. It 
became ''a school of civil prudence, the first and most 
essential virtue of a historian." 

In 1 78 1 he published two more volumes of his History, 
which, owing to the opposition aroused by his hostile atti- 
tude to Christianity, were somewhat coldly received. He 
long hesitated whether he should push his History beyond 
the fall of the Western Empire. During this period of 
indecision, he turned to Greek literature, and read, not 
only the leading historians, but also the poets and drama- 
tists. But after a few months he began to long " for the 
daily task, the active pursuit, which gave a value to every 
book and an object to every inquiry; " and once more he 
turned to his vast undertaking. 

Finding that his income was insufficient for the style of 
living he had been indulging in London, he resolved to 
retire to Lausanne. He took up his residence there in 
1783, in the midst of delightful and congenial society. 
After a delay of nearly a year, occasioned by the inci- 
dents of his removal, he settled down to daily toil and rap- 
idly pushed his book to completion. ''I have presumed," 
he says, " to mark the moment of conception ; I shall 
now commemorate the hour of my final deliverance. 
It was on the day, or rather night, of the 27th of June, 
1787, between the hours of eleven and twelve, that I 
wrote the last lines of the last page, in a summer-house in 



128 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



1 



my garden. After laying down my pen, I took several 
turns in a berceati, or covered walk of acacias, which 
commands a prospect of the country, the lake, and the 
mountains. The air was temperate, the sky was serene, 
the silver orb of the moon was reflected from the waters, 
and all nature was silent. I will not dissemble the first 
emotions of joy on recovery of my freedom and perhaps 
the establishment of my fame. But my pride was soon 
humbled, and a sober melancholy was spread over my 
mind by the idea that I had taken an everlasting leave of 
an old and agreeable companion, and that whatsoever 
might be the future date of my History, the life of the 
historian must be short and precarious." 

After an absence of four years, he returned to England 
with the manuscript of the last three volumes, which were 
rapidly carried through the press. The day of publica- 
tion was delayed for a short time, that it might fall on 
the fifty-first anniversary of his birth. The double festi- 
val was celebrated by a literary dinner at the publisher's 
house, where the historian " seemed to blush " at some 
fulsome verses in his praise. The concluding volumes 
were widely read, but did not escape considerable adverse 
criticism. The entire work was translated into French, 
German, and Italian, and on the Continent generally re- 
ceived the recognition to which its merits entitle it. 

Gibbon returned to Lausanne in 1788, where the next 
five years were spent in the miscellaneous delights of his 
large library. It was during this period that he wrote the 
brief but admirable " Autobiography," afterward given 
to the world by his friend. Lord Shefifield. The storm 
of the French Revolution had now burst on Europe. In 



EDWARD GIB BOM. 329 

his sympathies, Gibbon was an aristocrat, and the " Gallic 
frenzy, the wild theories of equal and boundless freedom," 
filled him with terror. The democratic leaven found its 
way to Switzerland. In the prospect of possible trouble, 
he did not exhibit a heroic spirit. " For myself," he wrote, 
"(may the omen be averted!) I can only declare that the 
first stroke of a rebel drum would be the signal of my 
immediate departure." 

He returned to England in 1793. He estimated that 
"the laws of probability, so true in general, so fallacious 
in particular," still allowed him about fifteen years of life. 
He looked forward to this closing period — "the mature 
season in which our passions are supposed to be calmed, 
our duties fulfilled, our ambition satisfied" — with a mel- 
ancholy pleasure. But he was to be disappointed ; the 
laws of probability proved fallacious for hini. He died of 
a dropsical affection Jan. 16, 1794, nine months after his 
return to London. 

He esteemed his lot in life a happy one. " When I con- 
template the common lot of mortality," he writes, " I must 
acknowledge that I have drawn a high prize in the lottery 
of Hfe. The far greater part of the globe is overspread 
with barbarism or slavery ; in the civilized world the most 
numerous class is condemned to ignorance and poverty ; 
and the double fortune of my birth in a free and enlight- 
ened country, in an honorable and wealthy family, is the 
lucky chance of an unit against millions." Few men have 
been more favored in outward circumstances, and with a 
genuine Epicurean spirit he knew how to appreciate and 
enjoy them. 

The essential features of his character have come out in 



330 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

the course of this sketch. He was lacking in warmth, en- 
thusiasm, heroic virtue ; and throughout his whole life we 
fail to discover a single act of magnanimity. Though he 
formed a few lasting friendships, he was not one to draw 
about him a large circle of enthusiastic admirers. For the 
rest, we may accept his own estimate of his character : " I 
am endowed with a cheerful temper, a moderate sensibility, 
and a natural disposition to repose rather than to activity ; 
some mischievous appetites and habits have perhaps been 
corrected by philosophy or time. The love of study, a 
passion which derives fresh vigor from enjoyment, supplies 
each day, each hour, with a perpetual source of indepen- 
dent and rational pleasure." 

Gibbon's fame rests almost exclusively on his " History 
of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire," to which 
he devoted twenty laborious years. He was admirably 
equipped by nature and culture for this vast undertaking. 
He had a natural bent for historic investigation. Along 
with a wide sweep of intellect, he had a genius for minute 
investigation. He had a strong artistic sense, which en- 
abled him to marshal in due order and proportion the vast 
multitude of details. His methodical habits of study made 
him master of all available sources of information. Except 
when Christianity comes under review, he is exceedingly 
judicious in weighing evidence and forming 6onclusions. 
In treating of Christianity, the hostility imbibed from the 
school of Voltaire instantly betrays him into fallacy or un- 
fairness. In spite of their brilliant and subtle irony, the 
famous fifteenth and sixteenth chapters, in which the 
rapid spread of Christianity is accounted for, must remain 
a blemish, not only on the great work itself, but on the 
character of the historian. 



EDWARD GIBBON. 33 I 

The style of "The Decline and Fall" is remarkable for 
its stately dignity. It has been characterized as *' copious, 
splendid, elegantly rounded, distinguished by supreme ar- 
tificial skill." It is enriched by suggestive epithets. With 
a less magnificent subject, the style must have been con- 
demned as false or even ridiculous. But no grander theme 
ever engaged historian's pen. Mighty movements appear 
in succession upon the broad historic canvas — the triumph 
of Christianity, the invasions of the barbarians, the devel- 
opment of the papal power, the rise of Mohammedanism, 
the religious enthusiasm of the crusades, the fall of Con- 
stantinople and the extinction of the empire of the East. 
It was but natural that the historian's soul should be ele- 
vated by the contemplation of so grand a theme, and that 
his style should rise into a corresponding dignity and splen- 
dor. 



332 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



WILLIAM COWPER. 

There are two reasons why the poetry of Cowper, 
apart from its intrinsic excellence, deserves special atten- 
tion. The first is, that it marks the transition from the 
artificial to the natural school. While Cowper's first vol- 
ume clearly shows the influence of Pope, his subsequent 
and more important works are decidedly modern in form 
and spirit. Breaking away from the restraint of artificial 
rules, the poet comes at last to treat of man and nature 
with simplicity and freedom. He exhibits great breadth 
of sympathy. Nature is studied for its own sake and 
described with fond picturesqueness of detail. The 
various interests and conditions of human life — wealth 
and poverty, freedom and slavery, city and country, 
knowledge and ignorance — are all brought before us in 
an unconventional way. 

The second distinctive feature of Cowper's poetry is its 
religious element. He was the poet of the evangelical 
revival in England. Other great poets have treated moral 
and religious themes ; but Cowper is the first to manifest 
a deeply pious spirit. No doubt the religious element is 
sometimes carried to excess ; but it must be said that the 
moral condition of England at this time required vigorous 
preaching. 

The life of Cowper is a strangely sad one. His mor- 
bidly sensitive nature unfitted him for contact with the 
ruthless world. ." Certainly I am not an absolute, fool," 




After the painting by George Romney. 



f/^ 



n 



WILLIAM COWPER, 333 

he wrote in one of his letters, "but I have more weak- 
nesses than the greatest of all the fools I can recollect at 
present. In short, if I was as fit for the next world as I 
am unfit for this, — and God forbid I should speak it in 
vanity, — I would not change conditions with any saint in 
Christendom." His religious life was frequently clouded 
by doubt and despair. Worst of all, his mind on several 
occasions gave way. But in spite of misfortune and suffer- 
ing, he became the best letter writer of England, and 
wrote at least one work that will perish only with the 
English language itself. 

William Cowper was born Nov. 26, 1731, in Hert- 
fordshire. His parentage on both sides was of ancient 
lineage ; but for this he seems to have cared but little : — 

" My boast is not that I deduce my birth 
From loins enthroned, and rulers of the earth ; 
But higher far my proud pretensions rise, — 
The son of parents passed into the skies." 

His father was chaplain to George H. His mother, a 

woman of excellent mind and heart, died when he was six 

years old. All through his life of sadness, he cherished 

an affectionate remembrance of her tenderness ; and fifty 

years after her death, on receiving her picture from a 

relative, he wrote a poem that has become famous for its 

pathetic beauty : — 

" The record fair 

That memory keeps of all thy kindness there, 

Still outlives many a storm, that has effaced 

A thousand other themes less deeply traced." 

At the age of six years this timid and sensitive child 
was placed in a large boarding-school, where he was tyran- 



334 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

nized over by the larger boys. One in particular selected 
him as the special object of his cruelty. " His savage 
treatment of me," Cowper wrote years afterward, ''im- 
pressed such a dread of his figure upon my mind that I 
well remember being afraid to lift my eyes upon him 
higher than to his knees, and that I knew him better by 
his shoe-buckles than by any other part of his dress." 
The recollection of the cruelties he suffered inspired his 
poem " Tirocinium, or a Review of Schools," in which he 
points out the evils of those institutions and makes a 
strong plea for home instruction. 

At the age of ten he entered Westminster School. He 
made excellent attainments in Latin and Greek, the prin- 
cipal subjects of study at that time. In spite of frequent 
fits of despondency, he excelled in cricket and foot-ball. 
Among his school-fellows afterward to become famous 
was Warren Hastings, in whose guilt he steadily refused 
in after years to believe. His poetical turn manifested 
itself in his school days, and "Verses," written on finding 
the heel of a shoe, showed his moralizing disposition, and 
contained a promise of " The Task " : — 

''This pondVous heel of perforated hide 
Compact, with pegs indented, many a row, 
Haply, — for such its massy form bespeaks, — 
The weighty tread of some rude peasant clown, 
Upbore : on this supported, oft he stretched 
With uncouth strides along the furrowed glebe, 
Flattening the stubborn clod, till cruel time 
(What will not cruel time?) or a wry step. 
Severed the strict cohesion." 

At eighteen, conforming to the wish of his father, 
Cowper began the study of law with an attorney in London. 



WILLIAM COWPER. 335 

Both in taste and talent he was unfitted for the legal pro- 
fession. He read more in literature than in law. In the 
same office was another young man named Thurlow, who 
afterward became lord chancellor. Cowper foresaw the 
success of his companion, and one evening, in the presence 
of some ladies, he playfully said : " Thurlow, I am nobody, 
and shall always be nobody, and you will be chancellor. 
You shall provide for me when you are." Thurlow re- 
plied, with a smile, *' I surely will." '' These ladies," 
continued Cowper, "are our witnesses." ''Let them be 
so," ans\yered the future chancellor, '' for I will certainly 
do it." Cowper's foresight for his friend was better than 
for himself ; he certainly became somebody. As to the 
aid so generously promised, it never extended beyond some 
advice in the translation of Homer. 

In 1752 Cowper took up his residence in the Middle 
Temple, but never gave himself seriously to law. He read 
Greek and translated French. He became a member of a 
literary circle, called the Nonsense Club, and occasionally 
wrote a bit of verse or prose. He contributed to the Con- 
noisse?ir a few papers in the style of Addison. But he 
suffered from morbid depression. The shadow of the 
dreadful affliction that darkened his later years stole upon 
him. '' Day and night," he wrote in his painful memoir, 
*' I was upon the rack, lying down in horror and rising up 
in despair." He was admitted to the bar in 1754, but 
beyond the duties of a commissioner of bankrupts, he 
never followed his profession. 

While a student of law he was a frequent visitor at the 
house of his uncle, Ashley Cowper. He fell in love with 
his cousin Theodora, and, as might be expected, addressed 



336 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

to her a considerable number of poems. They are gen- 
erally of a tame, mediocre quality ; but in the lines *' Upon 
a Venerable Rival" there is a touch of jealous, spiteful 

vigor : — 

" For once attempt not to despise 

What I esteem a rule : 

Who early loves, though young, is wise,— 

Who old, though gray, a fool." 

His devotion met with an ardent return, but encoun- 
tered parental opposition. Cowper's poverty, as well as 
his kinship and despondency, was regarded by Theodora's 
father as a barrier to their union. " What will you do if 
you marry your cousin.?" inquired the prudent father. 
"Do, sir.?" replied the heroic girl, "wash all day and 
ride out on the great dog at night." But when, in spite of 
prayers and tears, her father remained inexorable, she re- 
solved to obey him. She gave up her lover, whom she 
never saw afterward. But with beautiful constancy she 
remained true to him at heart, watched over his life with 
tender solicitude, and in various emergencies helped him 
with anonymous gifts. She fondly treasured the poems 
addressed to her, and they were pubUshed only after her 
death in 1824. 

At the age of thirty-one Cowper found his resources 
pretty well exhausted and was anxious to secure employ- 
ment. An influential relative nominated him for the office 
of clerk of journals in the House of Lords. To establish 
his fitness it became necessary for him to stand an exami- 
nation at the bar of the House. For some months he 
tried to make preparation ; but his timid, sensitive nature 
recoiled more and more from the ordeal. "They whose 



WILLIAM COW PER. 337 

spirits are formed like mine," he wrote, " to whom a pub- 
Uc exhibition of themselves is mental poison, may have 
some idea of the horrors of my situation — others can 
have none." Finally, losing his mental balance entirely, 
he attempted suicide and was saved from death only by 
the breaking of the garter, with which he had hanged him- 
self. His nomination was of course withdrawn, and he 
was placed in a private asylum. After eighteen months, 
in which he went through a deep but morbid religious 
experience, he regained his health. 

With the year 1765 begins a new era in Cowper's life. 
In order to' be near his brother, a fellow of St. Benet's 
College, Cambridge, he removed to Huntingdon. The 
town and surrounding country were very agreeable to him. 
For his support a few relatives raised a fund, which he 
received with humble gratitude. Here he began the 
extensive correspondence, which, apart from his poetry, 
would have given him an honored place in English lit- 
erature. Ease, grace, humor, are inimitably blended in 
his letters. He sympathized with the religious movement 
led by Wesley and Whitefield. He adopted what is now 
generally considered a rigorous type of piety, the earnest 
spirit of which subsequently entered into his poetry. At- 
tracted by religious sympathy and social culture, he became 
a boarder in the Unwin family, with which the rest of his 
life was to be intimately associated. Mrs. Unwin proved 
especially congenial, of whom he wrote to his cousin, 
" That woman is a blessing to me, and I never see her 
without being the better for her company." 

To most persons the family life of the Unwins will not 
appear attractive or cheerful. '' We breakfast commonly 



338 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

between eight and nine," wrote Cowper with his usual 
fondness for details; "till eleven, we read either the Scrip- 
ture or the sermons of some faithful preacher of those 
holy mysteries ; at eleven we attend divine service, which 
is performed here twice every day ; and from twelve to 
three we separate and amuse ourselves as we please. 
During the interval I either read in my own apartment, 
or walk, or ride, or work in the garden. We seldom sit 
an hour after dinner, but, if the weather permits, adjourn 
to the garden, where, with Mrs. Unwin and her son, I 
have generally the pleasure of reHgious conversation till 
tea-time. ... At night we read and converse as before, 
till supper, and commonly finish the evening either with 
hymns or a sermon, and, last of all, the family are called 
to prayers." 

This quiet life was not to continue undisturbed. At the 
end of two years Mr. Unwin was thrown from his horse 
and killed. Cowper continued an inmate of the Unwin 
home. The friendship existing between him and Mrs. 
Unwin gradually ripened into an attachment, which was 
to end only with life itself. At one time they contem- 
plated marriage ; but this was prevented by a return of 
Cowper's malady. In 1767, on the invitation of the Rev. 
John Newton, they moved to Olney in Buckinghamshire. 
The village, situated on the Ouse, was low, damp, and un- 
healthy ; but the partial eye of the poet, as we shall see 
later, discovered beauty in the landscape. 

The people were poor, illiterate lace-makers. Cowper 
cordially assisted in the religious work of the devoted pas- 
tor : he visited the poor, distributed alms, and led in 
prayer-meetings. For a hymn-book which Newton was 



WILLIAM COWPER. 



339 



I 



preparing, he composed the celebrated Olney hymns, sixty- 
eight in number. Like most hymns, they are generally 
deficient in high poetic quality ; but several of them — 

'•'■ Oh ! for a closer walk with God," 
" There is a fountain filled with blood," 
" What various hindrances we meet," 
^'' God moves in a mysterious way " — 

are found in all standard collections. 

Cowper's mode of life at Olney did not prove favorable 
to his health, and in 1773 his insanity returned. It took 
the form of religiou,s despair. Through a long illness he 
was attended by Mrs. Unwin with affectionate, self-sacri- 
ficing care. Newton likewise was very patient and kind. 
As Cowper began to pass out of the shadow, he gave him- 
self to light employment in carpentry and gardening. He 
surrounded himself with rabbits, cats, and other pets, on 
which he lavished kindly care. In ''The Task" he com- 
memorates a favorite pet : — 

" One sheltered hare 
Has never heard the sanguinary yell 
Of cruel man, exulting in her woes. 
Innocent partner of my peaceful home, 
Whom ten long years' experience of my care 
Has made at last familiar, she has lost 
Much of her vigilant instinctive dread, 
Not needful here, beneath a roof like mine." 

With returning health, his strong sense of humor re- 
vived. It found expression in the poem '' Report of an 
Adjudged Case," which is intended as a gentle satire on 
that class of legal judgments which, by adhering to the 



340 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

letter of the law, perverts justice. Every one knows the 
poem : — 

'^ Between Nose and Eyes a strange contest arose, 
The spectacles set them unhappily wrong; 
The point in dispute was, as all the world knows, 
To which the said spectacles ought to belong." 

Cowper was not a man of initiative energy. Left to 
himself, his life would have passed in meditative repose. 
All his longer poems were suggested to him by friends. 
In 1779 he was introduced to the Rev. William Bull, a 
dissenting minister living some five miles from Olney, 
whom he learned to esteem both for his learning and his 
piety. It was through him that he was induced to trans- 
late the quietistic poems of Madame Guyon. Though 
deeply spiritual in tone, these poems inculcate a morbid 
type of piety. Cowper was not unconscious of their faults, 
and in his translation he corrected their irreverent famil- 
iarity toward God. 

The year 1781 marks the beginning of Cowper's literary 
fame. He was now fifty years old ; and apart from the 
natural effects of age, his painful experience tended to en- 
rich his thought and subdue his style. His taste had been 
formed not only on the Latin and Greek classics, but also 
on the best English poets, of whom he expresses many 
able judgments in his letters. He greatly admired 
Milton ; and after reading Dr. Johnson's unfair sketch in 
the '' Lives of the Poets," he indignantly exclaimed : '' Oh, 
I could thrash his old jacket till I made his pension jingle 
in his pocket ! " 

He felt the need of congenial employment ; and at the 
suggestion of Mrs. Unwin, who proposed the subject, 



WILLIAM COWPER. ^.j 

"The Progress of Error," he began his moral satires. 
He worked with enthusiasm, and in the course of a few 
months finished ''The Progress of Error," "Truth" 
''Table Talk," ''Expostulation," ''Hope," "Charity'" 
"Conversation," and "Retirement." The volume ap- 
peared in 1782. Its reception by the pubHc was hardly 
equal to its merits. The poet received unfavorable criti- 
cism with admirable composure and humor. "We may 
now treat the critics," he wrote, "as the archbishop of 
Toledo treated Gil Bias, when he found fault with one of 
his sermons. His grace gave him a kick and said, ' Be- 
gone for a jackanapes and furnish yourself with a better 
taste, if you know where to find it.' " 

The moral satires cover a wide range of subject and well 
portray the manners of the time. Occasionally they are 
enlivened by characteristic humor. " I am merry," the 
poet said, "that I may decoy people into my company ; and 
grave, that they may be better for it." The following lines 
give us the ideal to v/hich he endeavored to conform his 
verse : — 

" Give me the line that flows its stately course 

Like a proud swan, conquering the stream by force ; 

That like some cottage beauty, strikes the heart, 

Quite unindebted to the tricks of art." 

In what is said of the poet we discern the freedom of a 
new era : — 

" A poet does not work by square or line, 
As smiths and joiners perfect a design ; 
At least we moderns, our attention less, 
Beyond the example of our sires digress, 
And claim a right to scamper and run wide, 
Wherever chance, caprice, or fancy guide." 



342 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

The following directions for story-telling are as applica- 
ble to written as to oral discourse : — 

" A tale should be judicious, clear, succinct ; 
The language plain, and incidents well linked. 
Tell not as new what everybody knows, 
And, new or old, still hasten to a close ; 
There centring in a focus, round and neat, 
Let all your rays of information meet." 

At this period Cowper was blessed with another friend- 
ship that told favorably on himself and English literature. 
Lady Austen, the widow of a baronet, was a witty, viva- 
cious, sensible woman, who after an accidental acquain- 
tance became deeply interested in the poet. Though she 
had been accustomed to the best drawing-rooms of London 
and Paris, she took up her residence in the quiet village of 
Olney and lived in close intimacy with the Unwin house- 
hold. To her we are indebted for two of Cowper's best- 
known poems. Observing his depression one day, she 
related to him the story of the luckless John Gilpin. It 
had the desired effect. That night he lay awake laughing 
over the story and next morning turned it into the famous 
ballad of "John Gilpin." It was published anonymously 
in a newspaper, recited by an actor, and taken up by the 
public ; and since that time it has retained its place in 
popular favor as one of the most humorous ballads in our 
language. 

Lady Austen was fond of blank verse, and urged Cow- 
per to write a poem of that kind. When he asked for a 
subject, she assigned him "The Sofa." The poet set to 
work, and in rapid succession completed "The Sofa," 



WILLIAM COW PER. 343 

*' The Timepiece," " The Garden," " The Winter Even- 
ing," "The Winter Morning Walk," and ''The Winter 
Walk at Noon," which taken together constitute ''The 
Task," his greatest work. In this poem Cowper's genius 
finds its fullest expression. It was published in 1785 and 
at once obtained flattering recognition. Poetry at this 
time was at a low ebb in England. ".The Task " easily 
gave Cowper a foremost place among the poets of his 
time. In style and theme it exhibits a complete rupture 
with the artificial school of the Augustan Age. It reveals 
a sympathy with the ordinary scenes and incidents of 
life, and its descriptions are based on close observation. 
As in the satires, there is a prevailing moral tone. Its 
general tendency, to use the poet's own words, is " to dis- 
countenance the modern enthusiasm after a London life 
and to recommend rural ease as friendly to the cause of 
piety and virtue." 

Here is his description of the Olney neighborhood, as 
he viewed it from an eminence in company with Mrs. 
Unwin : — 

"Thence with what pleasure have we just discerned 
The distant plough slow moving, and beside 
His laboring team that swerved not from the track, 
The sturdy swain diminished to a boy ! 
Here Ouse, slow winding through a level plain 
Of spacious meads, with cattle sprinkled o'er, 
Conducts the eye along his sinuous course 
Delighted. There, fast rooted in their bank, 
Stand, never overlooked, our favorite elms, 
That screen the herdsman's solitary hut ; 
While far beyond, and overthwart the stream, 
That, as with molten glass, inlays the vale, 



344 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

The sloping land recedes into the clouds ; 

Displaying on its varied side the grace 

Of hedge-row beauties numberless, square tower, 

Tall spire, from which the sound of cheerful bells 

Just undulates upon the listening ear. 

Groves, heaths, and smoking villages, remote." 



The poet had .not only an eye for rural sights, but 
so an 
passage 



also an ear for rural sounds. Note the following fine 



"Mighty winds 
That sweep the skirt of some far-spreading wood 
Of ancient growth, make music not unlike 
The dash of Ocean on his winding shore, 
And lull the spirit while they fill the mind ; 
Unnumbered branches waving in the blast, 
And all their leaves fast fluttering, all at once. 
Nor less composure waits upon the roar 
Of distant floods, or on the softer voice 
Of neighboring fountain, or of rills that slip 
Through the cleft rock, and chiming as they fall 
Upon loose pebbles, lose themselves at length 
In matted grass that with a livelier green 
Betrays the secret of their silent course." 

As illustrating Cowper's attentive observation and 
graphic description, the following extract from the ''Win- 
ter Morning Walk" will be of interest: — 

" Forth goes .the woodman, leaving unconcerned 
The cheerful haunts of man, to wield the axe 
And drive the wedge in yonder forest drear, 
From morn to eve his solitary task. 
Shaggy, and lean, and shrewd, with pointed ears 
And tail cropped short, half lurcher and half cur. 
His dog attends him. Close behind his heel 



WILLIAM COW PER. 345 

Now creeps he slow ; and now, with many a frisk 
Wide-scampering, snatches up the drifted snow 
With ivory teeth, or ploughs it with his snout ; 
Then shakes his powdered coat, and barks for joy. 
Heedless of all his pranks, the sturdy churl 
Moves right toward the mark ; nor stops for aught, 
But now and then with pressure of his thumb 
To adjust the fragrant charge of a short tube, 
That fumes beneath his nose : the trailing cloud 
Streams far behind him, scenting all the air." 

One more extract from this admirable poem must suf- 
fice. It reveals the poet's broad and kindly sympathies : — 

" I would not enter on my list of friends 
(Though graced with polished manners and fine sense, 
Yet wanting sensibility) the man 
Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm." 

Before " The Task " was finished, the friendly relations 
existing between the poet and Lady Austen were severed. 
The cause of the rupture has not been made clear. It has 
been suggested that the mutual jealousy of the two ladies 
had something to do with it. However that may be, Lady 
Austen dropped out of the poet's fife — 

" Like the lost Pleiad, seen no more below." 

But her place was soon supplied by Lady Hesketh, a 
cousin of the poet's, who had been drawn to him by his 
growing fame. Scarcely inferior to Lady Austen in 
accompHshments, she proved a more lasting friend. In 
1786 she provided for Cowper a better home at Weston, 
an elevated spot a short distance from Olney. 

At various times the poet amused himself with brief 



346 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

versions from the ancient classics. His renderings of 
Ovid, Virgil, and particularly Horace are characterized 
by grace and fidelity. But his most important work was a 
translation of Homer's "Iliad" and "Odyssey," on which 
he worked diligently for five years. He found fault with 
Pope for departing so widely from the simplicity and 
naturalness of the original. His own version in large 
measure avoids these mistakes, but somehow, when it 
appeared in 1 791, it failed to give satisfaction. Perhaps 
the failure lay in the nature of the task itself, for no trans- 
lation can ever fully reproduce the simplicity, melody, and 
graphic power of the original. Though Cowper was most 
unworldly in money matters, he no doubt found some com- 
pensation for his failure in the thousand pounds paid him 
by his publisher. 

Among his shorter poems, besides those previously 
noticed, there are several that deserve special attention. 
The poem on " Friendship " is a veritable storehouse of 
wisdom and wit : — 

" Who seeks a friend should come disposed 
To exhibit in full bloom disclosed 

The graces and the beauties 
That form the character he seeks ; 
For 'tis a union that bespeaks 

Reciprocated duties. 

" The man that hails you Tom or Jack, 
And proves by thumps upon your back 

How he esteems your merit, 
Is such a friend, that one had need 
Be very much his friend indeed 
To pardon or to bear it." 



WILLIAM COW PER. 347 

His " Verses " supposed to be written by Alexander 
Selkirk is a poem known to every one. " Mutual For- 
bearance " contains four often-quoted lines : — 

''The kindest and the happiest pair 
Will find occasion to forbear, 
And something every day they live 
To pity and perhaps forgive." 

"The Needless Alarm " beautifully teaches the moral: — 

" Beware of desperate steps. The darkest day 
Live till to-morrow shall have passed away." 

"The Poplar Field," "The Shrubbery," and "To Mary" 
are excellent, while "The Castaway" is remarkable both for 
its vigor and for the fact that it was Cowper's last original 
poem. 

The evening of his life was deeply overcast. Mrs. 
Unwin, so long his support, was stricken with paralysis. 
By his tender and unfailing attention he nobly repaid his 
great debt to her. But the strain proved too much for his 
strength, and his melancholy returned. In 1794 the king 
granted him a pension of three hundred pounds, but he 
was not in a condition to understand his good fortune. 
Loyal friends gathered about him in his helplessness. A 
change of scene was tried, but in vain. In 1796 Mrs. 
Unwin passed away. When taken to see her lifeless 
body, he uttered one passionate cry of pain and never 
spoke of her more. He survived her nearly four years, 
with now and then a brief return of his literary power. 
He died peacefully April 25, 1800. 

The key-note of his character was sincerity. He did 



348 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

not assume to be more than he actually was. His sincerity 
explains not only the singular charm of his society, but 
also the prevailing character of his poetry. Refusing to 
stoop to artificialities, he wrote what he truly observed, 
felt, and thought. " My descriptions," he said, " are all 
from nature ; not one of them second-hand. My delinea- 
tions of the heart are from my own experience ; not one 
of them borrowed from books or in the least degree con- 
jectural." 



1 




Engraved by William "Walker and Samuel Cousins, from the painting by Alexander Nasmyth 

done in 1787. 



P\Ool^ fi^A/md 



ROBERT BURNS. 349 



ROBERT BURNS. 

The greatest poet of Scotland and the best song writer 
of the world — such is but a moderate estimate of Burns. 
Scarcely any one will be found to claim less, and some to 
claim more. A careful study of his writings, in connec- 
tion with the unfavorable circumstances of his life, im- 
presses us with his extraordinary genius. He was the 
greatest poetic genius produced by Great Britain in the 
eighteenth century. A peculiar interest attaches to him. 
His great natural gifts were hampered by poverty and 
manual toil, and enslaved by evil habits, so that he ac- 
complished only a small part of what was possible for him. 
That his genius was chained by untoward circumstances 
awakens our profound pity and regret ; and that he 
weakly yielded to intemperance and immorality arouses 
our censure and indignation. 

His life was a tragedy — a proud and powerful mind 
overcome at length in the hard struggle of life. The 
catastrophe was unspeakably sad ; yet — let not our 
admiration of his gifts blind our judgment — Burns him- 
self, and not an unkind destiny, was chiefly to blame. 
Genius has no exemption from the ordinary rules of 
morality. If he had abstained from drunken carousals 
and illicit amours, his life might have been crowned with 
beauty and honor. No doubt, as is often charitably said, 
he had strong passions and severe temptations ; but these 
he ought to have resisted ; for, as Carlyle says, '* Nature 



350 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

fashions no creature without implanting in it the strength 
needful for its action and duration ; least of all does she 
so neglect her masterpiece and darhng, the poetic soul." 

Robert Burns was born in a clay-built cottage two miles 
from the town of Ayr in 1759. His father was a man of 
strict integrity and deep piety. We have an imperishable 
portrait of him in "The Cotter's Saturday Night." His 
early years were spent on a small unfruitful farm in 
poverty and toil. His strength was overtaxed, his shoulders 
became stooped, and his nervous system was weakened. 
He afterward spoke of this period as combining *' the 
cheerless gloom of a hermit with the unceasing moil of a 
galley slave." 

Yet this hardship was not without some relief. His 
humble home was sweetened with kindness and love ; and 
the future poet was taught, first in school and afterward 
by his father, the elements of learning. His mind was 
enlarged, and his taste refined by works of the highest 
merit. His early reading included the Spectator, Shake- 
speare, Pope, and Locke's " Human Understanding." 

In his fifteenth year his genius was awakened under 
the sweet spell of love. ''You know," he says, "our 
country custom of coupling a man and woman together 
as partners in the labors of harvest. In my fifteenth 
summer my partner was a bewitching creature, a year 
younger than myself. My scarcity of EngHsh denies me 
the power of doing her justice in that language ; but you 
know the Scottish idiom. She was a bonnie, sweet, sonsie 
lass. In short, she, altogether unwittingly to herself, 
initiated me into that delicious passion which, in spite of 
acid disappointment, gin-horse prudence, and bookworm 



ROBERT BURNS. " 351 

philosophy, I hold to be the first of human joys here 
below." The first offspring of his muse was entitled 
" Handsome Nell," which, though he afterward spoke of 
it as puerile, still contains a touch of that charming 
simplicity of thought and expression which characterizes 
so much of his poetry. Is not this stanza delightful ? — 

" She dresses aye sae clean and neat, 
Baith decent and genteel, 
And then there's something in her gait 
Gars 1 ony dress look weel/' 

At the age of nineteen he went to Kirkoswald to study 
mensuration and surveying. It turned out to be a bad 
move. The town was frequented by smugglers and 
adventurers ; and Burns was introduced into scenes of 
what he calls " swaggering riot and roaring dissipation." 
He worked at his mensuration with sufficient diligence 
till he one day met a pretty lass and fell in love. The 
current of his thought was turned from mathematics to 
poetry, and this change put an end to his studies. Love- 
making now became a common business with him. He 
composed a song on every pretty girl he knew. The most 
beautiful of the songs of this period is his '' Mary Mori- 
son," which was inspired by a real affection : — 

" Yestreen, when to the trembling string, 

The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha', 
To thee my fancy took its wing, 

I sat, but neither heard nor saw : 
Tho' this was fair, and that was braw. 

And yon the toast of a' the town, 
I sigh'd and said amang them a', 

Ye are na Mary Morison. 

1 Makes. 



352 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

" Oh, Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, 

Wha for thy sake wad gladly die ; 
Or canst thou break that heart of his, 

Whase only faut is loving thee? 
If love for love thou wilt na gie. 

At least be pity to me shown ; 
A thought ungentle canna be 

The thought o' Mary Morison." 

In spite of his sweet love songs his suit was rejected — 

an incident that long cast a shadow over his inner life. 

He was a great reader. He possessed a " Collection of 

English Songs " ; and this, he says, " was my vade-mecum. 

I pored over them driving my cart, or walking to labor, 

song by song, verse by verse ; carefully noticing the true, 

tender, or sublime, from affectation or fustian ; and I am 

convinced I owe to this practice much of my critic craft, 

such as it is." A consciousness of his strength began to 

dawn upon him and to fill his mind with a great ambition. 

Amidst his varied labors on the farm, as a beardless boy, 

he felt — 

" E'en then a wish, I mind its power, 

A wish that to my latest hour 

Shall strongly heave my breast : 
That I for poor auld Scotland's sake, 
Some useful plan or book could make, 

Or sing a sang at least." 

In the summer of 1781 he went to Irvine to learn the 
flax-dressing business in the hope of increasing thereby 
the profits of farming. It turned out to be a disastrous 
undertaking. As at Kirkoswald, he fell into the company 
of smugglers and adventurers, by whom he was encour- 
aged in loose opinions and bad habits. With the unset- 



ROBERT BURNS, 353 

tling of his religious convictions, he overleaped the restraints 
that had hitherto kept him in the path of virtue. 

His flax-dressing came to an abrupt close. He was 
robbed by his partner, and his shop took fire at a New 
Year's carousal and was burnt to the ground. Dispirited 
and tormented with an evil conscience, he returned to his 
home, which was soon to be overshadowed by the death 
of his father. " Whoever lives to see it," the old man had 
said, *' something extraordinary will come from that boy." 
But he went to the grave sorely troubled with apprehensions 
about the future of his gifted son. 

Burns now made an effort to reform. In his own words, 
" I read farming books, I calculated crops, I attended mar- 
kets, and, in short, in spite of the devil, the world, and the 
flesh, I should have been a wise man ; but the first year, 
from unfortunately buying bad seed, the second, from a 
late harvest, we lost half our crops. This overset all my 
wisdom ; and I returned Hke the dog to his vomit, and the 
sow that was washed to her wallowing in the mire." He 
came under ecclesiastical discipHne for immorality and re- 
venged himself by lashing the minister and church officers 
with keen and merciless satire. His series of reHgious 
satires, in spite of all their inimitable brilliancy of wit, re- 
flect little credit either on his judgment or his character. 
While his harvests were failing, and his business interests 
were all going against him, he found solace in rhyme. As 

he says : — 

" Leeze me ^ on rhyme ! it's aye a treasure, 
My chief, amaist my only pleasure, 
At hame, a-fiel', at wark, at leisure, 

1 I am happy in rhyme. 

2 A 



354 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

The Muse, poor hizzie ! 
Tho^ rough and raplock ^ be her measure, 
She's seldom lazy." 

The year 1785, while he was laboring with his brother 
on a farm at Mossgiel, saw the greatest activity of his 
muse. It was at that time that he composed " To a 
Mouse," "The Cotter's Saturday Night," "Address to the 
Deil," "Man Was Made to Mourn," and "The Mountain 
Daisy," which estabhshed his fame on a lasting founda- 
tion. They were composed behind the plough and after- 
ward written in a little farmhouse garret. " Thither," 
says Chambers, " when he had returned from his day's 
work, the poet used to retire and seat himself at a small 
deal table, lighted by a narrow skylight in the roof, to 
transcribe the verses which he had composed in the fields. 
His favorite time for composition was at the plough." 

His immoral conduct again brought him into serious 
trouble. The indignant father of Jean Armour put the 
officers of the law upon his track. By a subsequent mar- 
riage with Jean, he did something in the way of repairing 
the wrong. While lurking in concealment, he resolved to 
emigrate to Jamaica ; and to secure the necessary means 
for the voyage, he published a volume of his poems in 1786. 

The result altered all his plans. The volume took Scot- 
land by storm. " Old and young," says a contemporary, 
" high and low, grave and gay, learned and ignorant, were 
alike delighted, agitated, transported. I was at that time 
resident in Galloway, contiguous to Ayrshire, and I can 
well remember how even plough-boys and maid-servants 
would have gladly bestowed the wages they earned most 

1 Coarse. 



ROBERT BURNS. 355 

hardly, and which they wanted to purchase necessary 
clothing, if they might procure the works of Burns." 

As a financial venture, the volume brought him only 
twenty pounds ; but what was of more importance, it re- 
tained him in his native country and introduced him to 
the noble and the learned of Edinburgh. He has left a 
humorous account of the first time he met a nobleman 
socially, and ''dinner'd wi' a Lord" : — 

" But wi' a Lord ! stand out my shin, 
A Lord — a Peer, an Earl's son ! 

Up higher yet my bonnet ! 
And sic a Lord ! lang Scotch ells twa, 
Our Peerage he overlooks them a', 

As I look o'er a sonnet." 

Professor Dugald Stewart has given an interesting 
account of Burns's bearing on the same occasion : " His 
manners were then, as they continued ever afterward, 
simple, manly, and independent; strongly expressive of 
conscious genius and worth, but without anything that 
indicated forwardness, arrogance, or vanity. He took his 
share in conversation, but not more than belonged to him ; 
and Hstened with apparent attention and deference on 
subjects where his want of education deprived him of the 
means of information." 

In November, 1786, Burns deemed it wise to visit the 
Scottish metropolis. His journey thither on horseback 
was a continued ovation. He occupied very humble 
quarters, lodging in a small room costing three shiUings 
a week. From this lowly abode he went forth into the 
best society of Edinburgh, to which his genius gained him 
ready admission. He was the social lion of the day. 



356 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

The Scottish capital was noted at this time for the liter- 
ary talent gathered there. In the most pohshed drawing- 
rooms of the city Burns met Dugald Stewart, William 
Robertson, Adam Smith, Hugh Blair, and others of 
scarcely less celebrity. He did not suffer from this 
contact with the ablest men of his country. Indeed, it 
has been said by one who knew him well that poetry was 
not his forte. His brilliant conversation — his vigorous 
thought, sparkling wit, and trenchant style — sometimes 
eclipsed his poetry. 

His manner was open and manly, a consciousness of 
native strength preserving him from all servility. He 
showed, as Lockhart says, " in the strain of his bearing 
his belief that in the society of the most eminent men 
of his nation he was where he was entitled to be, hardly 
deigning to flatter them by exhibiting a symptom of being 
flattered." He was especially pleasing to ladies, ''fairly 
carrying them off their feet," as one of them said, "by 
his deference of manner and the mingled humor and 
pathos of his talk." 

He cherished a proud feeling of independence. He 
emphasized individual worth and looked with contempt 
on what may be regarded as the mere accidents of birth 
or fortune. To this feeling, which finds a response in 
every noble breast, he gave expression in his song, " A 
Man's a Man for a' That," which mightily voiced the 
democratic spirit of the age : — 

" Is there, for honest poverty, 

That hangs his head, and a' that ? 
The coward slave, we pass him by ; 
We dare be puir for a' that. 



ROBERT BURNS. 357 

" For a' that, and a' that, 

Our toils obscure and a' that, 
The rank is but the guinea-stamp — 
The man's the gowd 1 for 2C that." 

He chafed under the inequahties of fortune he discov- 
ered in society and sometimes showed an inconsiderate 
bitterness of feeling. "There are few of the sore evils 
under the sun give me more uneasiness and chagrin," he 
writes in his diary, ''than the comparison how a man 
of genius, nay, of avowed worth, is received everywhere, 
with the reception which a mere ordinary character, deco- 
rated with the trappings and futile distinctions of fortune 
meets." " He had not yet learned — he never did learn " 
— says Principal Shairp, ''that lesson, that the genius he 
had received was his allotted and sufficient portion, and 
that his wisdom lay in making the most of this rare in- 
ward gift, even on a meagre allowance of this world's 
external goods." 

Unfortunately for Burns he did not confine himself to 
the cultivated circles of Edinburgh. He frequented the 
social clubs that gathered nightly in the taverns. Here 
he threw off all restraint, and mirth frequently became 
fast and furious. Deep drinking, rough raillery, and 
coarse songs made up the sum of these revellings, which 
served at once to deprave the poet's character and to ruin 
his reputation. 

In 1787 the ostensible purpose for which Burns had 
come to Edinburgh was accomplished, and a second vol- 
ume of his poems was issued by the leading publisher of 
the city. He then made two brief tours through the 

1 Gold. 



358 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



border districts and the highlands of Scotland for the pur 
pose of visiting points celebrated for beautiful scenery 
or consecrated by heroic deeds. He returned for a few 
months to Edinburgh ; but the coarse revelries of his 
previous visit had undermined his influence, and he met 
with only a cold reception. 

Before leaving the city he received an appointment in 
the Excise. He had hoped for something better. But 
he wrote to a friend : " The question is not at what door 
of fortune's palace we shall enter in, but what doors does 
she open for us." He also leased a farm at Ellisland, 
which he had long set his heart on. 

Returning to Ayrshire, he married Jean Armour, whom 
an angered father had thrust from his door. The poet, 
who was not a hardened reprobate, wrote : " I have 
married my Jean. I had a long and much-loved fellow- 
creature's happiness or misery in my determination, and 
I durst not trifle with so important a deposit, nor have 
I any cause to repent it. If I have not got polite tittle- 
tattle, modish manners, and fashionable dress, I am not 
sickened and disquieted with the multiform curse of board- 
ing-school affectation ; and I have got the handsomest fig- 
ure, the sweetest temper, the soundest constitution, and 
the kindest heart in the country." The truth of this char- 
acterization is established by the patience with which Jean 
bore the irregularities of her husband's life. 

His farm at Ellisland proved a failure. His duties as 
exciseman, besides leading him into bad company, pre- 
vented that strict supervision of farm work which was 
necessary to success. He suffered much from depression 
of spirits, to which the recollections of a wayward life con- 



^ 



ROBERT BURNS. 359 

tributed no small part. ** Alas ! " he writes, " who would 
wish for many years ? What is it but to drag existence 
until our joys gradually expire, and leave us in a night of 
misery, like the gloom which blots out the stars, one by 
one from the face of heaven, and leaves us without a ray 
of comfort in the howling waste ? " 

He continued to find at intervals solace in poetry. One 
morning he heard the report of a gun and" shortly after 
saw a poor wounded hare limping by. The condition of 
the little animal touched his heart and called forth the 
excellent poem " On Seeing a Wounded Hare Limp by 
Me," written in classic English : — 

" Go live, poor wanderer of the wood and field, 
The bitter little that of life remains : 
No more the thickening brakes and verdant plains 
To thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield." 

We meet with this tender sympathy with nature, and 
strong sense of fellowship with lower creatures, in many 
of his poems. It is one secret of their charm. In the 
poem " To a Mouse " is the following : — 

" I'm truly sorry man's dominion 
Has broken Nature's social union, 
An' justifies that ill opinion 

Which makes thee startle 
At me, thy poor earth-born companion 

An' fellow-mortal ! " 

The cold blasts of a winter night remind him of — 

" Ilk happing bird, wee helpless thing, 
That in the merry months o' spring 
Delighted me to hear thee sing, 



360 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

What comes o' thee ? 
Where wilt thou cower thy chittering wing, 
And close thy e'e ? " 

The choicest products of this sojourn at ElHsland are 
the immortal ''Tale o' Tam o' Shanter" and "To Mary 
in Heaven." The latter is a song of deep pathos. Years 
before he had loved his *' Highland Mary " with a deep 
devotion. Their parting by the banks of Ayr — which 
the untimely death of Mary made the last — was attended 
with vows of eternal constancy. Her memory never van- 
ished from the poet's mind. On the anniversary of her 
death, in October, 1786, he grew sad and wandered about 
his farmyard the whole night in deep agitation of mind. 
As dawn approached he was persuaded by his wife to 
enter the house, when he sat down and wrote those 
pathetic lines, beginning : — 

" Thou lingering star with lessening ray, 

That lov''st to greet the early morn, 
Again thou usherest in the day 

My Mary from my soul was torn. 
O Mary, dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 
See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? " 

In 1 79 1 Burns removed to Dumfries and gave his 

whole time to the duties of the Excise, for which he 

received seventy pounds a year. At Ellisland he had 

written : — 

" To make a happy fireside clime. 

For weans and wife, 

Is the true pathos and sublime 

Of human life.'' 



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ROBERT BURNS. 36 1 

Unfortunately he did not live as wisely as he sang. His 
spirit became soured toward those more favored by fortune. 
His nights were frequently spent at the tavern with drink- 
ing cronies. His life is summed up in one of his letters : 
"Hurry of business, grinding the faces of the publican 
and the sinner on the merciless wheels of the Excise, 
making ballads, and then drinking and singing them; 
and, over and above all, correcting the press of two 
different publications." 

In 1792 his aid was solicited in the preparation of 
" Melodies of Scotland." He entered into the undertak- 
ing with enthusiasm. When the editor, George Thomp- 
son of Edinburgh, once sent him some money in return 
for a number of songs, the poet wrote : '' I assure you, 
my dear sir, that you truly hurt me with your pecuniary 
parcel. It degrades me in my own eyes. However, to 
return it would savor of affectation ; but, as to any more 
traffic of that debtor and creditor kind, I swear by that 
honor which crowns the upright stature of Robert Burns's 
integrity, on the least motion of it, I will indignantly spurn 
the by-pact transaction and from that moment commence 
entire stranger with you." In view of the financial straits 
into which he shortly afterward came, this must be re- 
garded as an unwise sacrifice of prudence to sentiment. 

Burns strongly sympathized with the revolutionary move- 
ment in France ; and to this feeling no less than to his 
Scottish patriotism, if we may beheve his own account, 
we owe the thrilling lines of '* Bruce's Address," which 
Carlyle says '' should be sung with the throat of the whirl- 
wind." The excellence of this poem has been questioned 
by Wordsworth and others ; but let the following lines be 



362 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



1 



read with something of the heroic fervor with which they 
were composed, and ail doubts will be set at rest : — 

" Wha will be a traitor knave ? 
Wha can fill a coward's grave ? 
Wha so base as be a slave ? 
Let him turn and flee." 

• The end was drawing near. The irregularities of his 
life had undermined his strong constitution. He was 
often serious. " I find that a man may live like a fool," 
he said to his friend, "but he will scarcely die like one." 
In April, 1796, he wrote: "Alas, my dear Thompson, I 
fear it will be some time before I tune my lyre again ! 
By Babel streams I have sat and wept, almost ever since 
I wrote you last ; I have known existence only by the 
pressure of the heavy hand of sickness and have counted 
time by the repercussions of pain ! Rheumatism, cold, 
and fever have formed to me a terrible combination. I 
close my eyes in misery and open them without hope. 
I look on the vernal day, and say, with poor Ferguson, — 

" '■ Say wherefore has an all-indulgent heaven 
Light to the comfortless and wretched given ?'" 

His last days were illumined now and then by flashes of 

poetic fire. For Jessie Lewars, a young girl that had seen 

the poet's need, and from sympathy had come into his 

home to assist in domestic duties, he wrote the following 

beautiful lines : — 

"Oh! wert thou in the cauld, cauld blast, 
On yonder lea, on yonder lea, 
My plaidie to the angry airt,^ 
rd shelter thee, Td shelter thee. 

^ Point of the compass. 



ROBERT BURNS. 363 

Or did misfortune's bitter storms 
Around thee blaw, around thee blaw, 

Thy bield^ should my bosom be, 
To share it a', to share it a\ 

•' Or were I in the wildest waste, 

Sae black and bare, sae black and bare. 
The desert were a paradise, 

If thou wert there, if thou wert there : 
Or were I monarch o' the globe, 

Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign. 
The brightest jewel in my crown 

Wad be my queen, wad be my queen." 

The 2 1 St of July, 1796, with his children around his bed, 

the great poet of Scotland passed away. Let our final 

judgment of him as a man be tempered by the gentle 

spirit he commends in the *' Address to the Unco 

Guid": — 

" Then gently scan your brother man. 

Still gentler sister woman ; 
Tho' they may gang a kennin ^ wrang. 

To step aside is human : 
One point must still be greatly dark, 

The moving why they do it ; 
And just as lamely can ye mark, 

How far perhaps they rue it. 

"Who made the heart, 'tis He alone 

Decidedly can try us ; 
He knows each chord — its various tone, 

Each spring — its various bias ; 
Then at the balance let's be mute. 

We never can adjust it ; 
What's do7ie we partly may compute, 

But know not what's resisted." 

1 Shelter. 2 Xrifle. 



364 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

As a poet Burns's life was incomplete. His struggle 
with poverty and his bad habits left him only fragments 
of his power to be devoted to literature. He was not 
guided by the controlling influence of a great purpose. 
His efforts were spasmodic — the result of accidental cir- 
cumstances. His genius has not the range of Shake- 
speare's ; but within its limit it is unsurpassed. He was 
the greatest peasant poet that ever lived. Unlike Words- 
worth, in whom the reflective element is largely developed, 
Burns is a painter of nature. He has glorified the land- 
scape of his native land. Beyond all other poets he has 
caught the beauty, the humor, the pathos, of everyday 
life. He was thoroughly honest in his best writings. 
There is no attitudinizing in his poems, no pretence to 
unreal sentiment. He was a poet — 

"Whose songs gushed from his heart, 
As drops from the clouds of summer, 
Or tears from the eyelids start." 

He felt deeply, and then poured forth his song because 

he could not otherwise find peace. He could not endure 

affectation, rant, hypocrisy. At heart devout before the 

great Author and Preserver of all things, he yet rebelled 

against some of the hard features religion had assumed. 

In his *' Epistle to a Young Friend," his real feelings are 

indicated : — _, 

" The great Creator to revere, 

Must sure become the creature ; 
But still the preaching cant forbear, 

And ev'n the rigid feature : 
Yet ne'er with wits profane to range, 

Be complaisance extended ; 
An Atheist's laugh's a poor exchange 

For Deity ofifended. 



1 



I 



ROBERT BURNS. 365 

"When ranting round in pleasure's ring, 

Religion may be blinded ; 
Or, if she gie a random sting, 

It may be little minded ; 
But when on life we're tempest-driven, 

A conscience but a canker — 
A correspondence fixed wi' Heaven, 

Is sure a noble anchor." 

More than any other man he saw the beauty of a sincere 
religious Ufe, to a portrayal of which he devoted the best 
of his poems. His sensibihties were extraordinarily sensi- 
tive and strong. ''There is scarcely any earthly object," 
he says, " gives me more — I do not know if I should call 
it pleasure — but something which exalts me, something 
which enraptures me — than to walk in the sheltered side 
of a wood or high plantation in a cloudy winter day and 
hear the stormy wind howling among the trees and raving 
over the plain. ... I listened to the birds and frequently 
turned out of my path, lest I should disturb their little songs 
or frighten them to another station." With such a sensi- 
tive nature it is no wonder that we find contradictions in 
his poetry. The storm of emotion drives quickly from 
grave to gay, from high to low. He has written much 
that ought to be and will be forgotten. But upon the 
whole, his poetry is elevating in its tone — a treasure for 
which we ought to be thankful. It is the voice of a man 
who, with all his weakness and sin, was still, in his best 
moments, honest, manly, penetrating, and powerful. 



^ 



1 



AGE OF SCOTT. 



PRINCIPAL WRITERS. 

Criticism. — Francis Jefifrey (i 773-1 850). Lawyer and critic, 
editor of the Edijiburgh Review (1802- 1829), and brilliant writer on 
literature, politics, and ethics. 

William Hazlitt (1778-1830). Critic and author of ''Character of 
Shakespeare's Plays'' (1817), "A View of the English Stage" (1818), 
" Lectures on the English Poets" (1818), "Lectures on the English 
Comic Writers" (1819), "Literature of the Elizabethan Age" (1821), 
"Table-Talk" (1824), "The Spirit of the Age" (1825). 

Charles Lamb (1775-1834). Critic and essayist. Author of " Rosa- 
mond Gray" (1798), "Tales from Shakespeare" (1805), and "Essays 
of Elia" (1 822-1 824). 

John Wilson (i 785-1854). Critic and essayist, whose no}}i de 
plume was "' Christopher North." Author of " Noctes Ambrosianae," 
etc. 

John Gibson Lockhart (1794-1854). Critic, novelist, biographer; 
author of "Adam Blair" (1822), "Life of Burns" (1825), "Life of 
Scott" (1837), etc. 

Leigh Hunt (1784-1859). Author of "Juvenilia" (1802), "Classic 
Tales" (1807), "The Story of Rimini" (181 6), etc. 

History. — Henry Hallam (i 778-1 859). Author of " Views of the 
State of Europe during the Middle Ages" (1818), "Constitutional 
History of England" (1827), and "Introduction to the Literature of 
Europe in the Fifteenth, Sixteenth, and Seventeenth Centuries " (1838). 

William Mitford (1744-1827). Author of a " History of Greece " 
(1784-1818), "History and Doctrine of Christianity " (1823), etc. 

Female Novelists and Poets. — Ann Radcliffe (1764-1823). 
Novelist of Romantic School, and author of "The Romance of the 

367 



368 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

Forest" (1791), "The Mysteries of Udolpho" (1794), and several 
others. 

Maria Edgevvorth (i 767-1 849). Novelist of Irish Hfe ; author of 
« Castle Rackrent " (1801), ''Moral Tales" (1801), " Tales of a Fashion- 
able Life" (181 1), etc. 

Jane Austen (1775-18 17). Novelist of social life ; author of " Sense 
and Sensibility" (181 1), "Pride and Prejudice" (181 2), "Emma" 
(1816), etc. 

Jane Porter (1776-1850). Novelist of the Romantic type; author 
of " Thaddeus of Warsaw " (1803), " The Scottish Chiefs " (1810), etc. 

Anna Letitia Barbauld (1743-1825). Poet and prose writer; author 
of "Lessons for Children" (1808), etc. 

Felicia Dorothea Hemans (1794-1835). Poet and author of "The 
Vespers of Palermo" (1823), a tragedy, "The Forest Sanctuary" 
(1827), "Songs of the Affections " (1830), etc. Several of her shorter 
poems — " The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers," " The Homes of Eng- 
land," " The Hour of Death " — will always remain popular. 

Hannah More (i 745-1 833). Poet, novelist, dramatist, and moral 
essayist ; author of " Percy," a drama written for Garrick, which was 
acted with success in 1777, "Sacred Dramas" (1782,) " Ccelebs in 
Search of a Wife" (1809), "Character of St. Paul" (1815), "Moral 
Sketches" (1818), etc. 

Joanna Baillie (1762- 185 1). Poet and dramatist; author of "Plays 
of the Passions" (1812), etc. 

Poetry. — Thomas Campbell (1777-1844). Author of "The 
Pleasures of Hope " (1799), " Poems " (1803), " Gertrude of Wyoming " 
(1809). 

John Keats (1795-1821). Author of "Poems " (1817), "Endymion" 
(1 81 8), "Hyperion" (1820). 

Robert Southey (i 774-1 843). Poet and historian ; author of " Joan 
of Arc" (1796), " Thalaba, the Destroyer" (1801), "The Curse of 
Kehama" (1810), "A History of Brazil," "Life of Nelson," and a hun- 
dred other volumes. 

Thomas Moore (1779-1852). Poet and biographer; author of 
"Epistles" (1806), "Lalla Rookh" (1817), "Life of Byron" (1830), 
"Irish Melodies" (1834), etc. 

Thomas Hood (i 798-1 845). Poet, editor, humorist; author of 
"Whims and Oddities" (1826), "Up the Rhine" (1839), a delightful 
piece of humor, and editor of Hoocfs Magazine, and other periodicals. 



^i 



AGE OF SCOTT. 369 

Walter Savage Lahdor (1775-1864). Poet and prose writer; au- 
thor of "Gebir" (1798), "Count Julian" (1812), "Imaginary Conver- 
sations" (1824-1846), etc. 

John Keble (1792 -1866). Poet, clergyman, and Oxford professor; 
author of "The Christian Year" (1827), a series of poems for the Sun- 
days and holidays of the church year. 

Samuel Rogers (i 763-1 855). Author of the " Pleasures of Memory" 
(1792), "Columbus" (1812), "Human Life," etc. As a man of 
wealth he entertained many literary celebrities, his breakfasts being 
more famous than his poems. 

GREAT REPRESENTATIVE WRITERS. 

Sir Walter Scott. Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 

Lord Byron. Percy Bysshe Shelley. 

William Wordsworth. Thomas De Quincey. 



26 



VII. 

AGE OF SCOTT. 

(1800-1832.) 

Favorable political condition — Triumphs of democracy — Periods not 
sharply defined — Eflfect of French Revolution — Growing Intelli- 
gence — Periodicals — Critics : Jeffrey, Hazlitt, Lamb, Wilson, 
Lockhart — History : Hallam, Mitford — Prominence of women : 
Ann Radcliffe, Maria Edgeworth, Jane Austen — Poetry — Thomas 
Campbell — John Keats — Robert Southey — Thomas Moore — 
Sir Walter Scott — Lord Byron — William Wordsworth 
— Samuel Taylor Coleridge — Percy Bysshe Shelley — 
Thomas De Quincey. 

The political condition of England during this period 
was not unfavorable to literature. In 1800 the " Emerald 
Isle" was joined to England under the title of the United 
Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland. The Napoleonic 
wars increased England's prestige as a world-power. She 
came into possession of the colonies of Spain, of Holland, 
and of France. Waterloo finally ended her long struggle 
with the French. Her victories at Copenhagen and 
Trafalgar made her the undisputed mistress of the seas. 
The population largely increased. Agriculture became 
more flourishing, and the inventions of Watt and Ark- 
wright helped to build up prosperous cities in northern 
England and to increase the national wealth. In 181 5 
London was lighted with gas ; and a few years later an 
effective police force was organized for the city, which 

371 



372 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

had then reached a population of a milHon and a half. 
Though the transition from hand labor to machinery im- 
posed great hardships on the working classes for a time, 
and thus created much social discontent and suffering, it 
laid the foundation of the subsequent supremacy of Eng- 
land as a manufacturing and commercial nation. 

Though the influence of the government was generally 
against the democratic tendencies of the times, the new 
sense of human right and freedom could not be extin- 
guished. Though held in check for a time, it achieved 
later notable triumphs in Parliament. In 1828 the Test 
Act, by which Dissenters and Roman Catholics were ex- 
cluded from government office, was repealed, and the fol- 
lowing year Roman Catholics were admitted to Parliament. 
In 1832 the famous Reform Bill was passed, by which the 
*' rotten boroughs " were abolished, the list of voters was 
increased by half a million, and the manufacturing cities 
of northern England — Birmingham, Manchester, and 
many others — were accorded representation. 

It will be understood that the periods into which the 
history of any literature is divided are not sharply defined. 
They pass gradually from one into another under the op- 
eration of new influences. The age of Scott, a designa- 
tion less descriptive than convenient, is characterized by 
the full development of the democratic and romantic 
tendencies originating in the latter part of the preceding 
period. They reached their climax in the literary outburst 
that has been called, not without considerable justification, 
the '' Second Creative Period." A copious literature, new 
both in form and spirit, bloomed forth. Scott, Words- 
worth, Coleridge, Byron, Shelley, De Quincey, and others 



AGE OF SCOTT. 373 

were men of original and creative genius ; and in a retro- 
spect of the long vista of English literature, they stand 
out with striking prominence. With an inadequate ap- 
prehension of the tendencies of the age, three of these 
writers — Wordsworth, Coleridge, and Southey — have 
been designated the Lake School of Poets, from their 
residence in the northern part of England. 

The chief event that immediately affected literature, 
in the closing decade of the eighteenth and the first third 
of the nineteenth century, was the French Revolution. 
It not only crystallized the floating thought and feeling 
of France, but it brought home to the English heart the 
vague democratic movement of the time. The rights 
of man, as distinguished from the privileges of class or 
caste, became the subject of earnest and enthusiastic 
examination. The literary men of England generally 
arrayed themselves, consciously or unconsciously, on the 
side of progress or of conservatism. Dreams of a golden 
age of right and happiness took hold of men like Words- 
worth, Coleridge, and Southey ; and for a time, as we 
shall see, they contemplated founding an ideal democ- 
racy, or Pantisocracy, beyond the sea. On the other 
hand, Scott, in whom the romantic movement reached 
its climax, turned away from the turmoil of dissension 
and conflict to write, in prose and poetry, of a chival- 
rous past. Byron satirized the social conditions about 
him ; and Shelley, with a spirit still more radical and 
violent, sought to overturn the most sacred beliefs and 
institutions. 

This period was one of rapidly growing intelligence. 
Through the labors of Andrew Bell and Joseph Lan- 



374 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

caster, a new impulse was given to popular education, 
and hundreds of schools were founded. In 1818 the 
government manifested its interest in education by ap- 
pointing a committee to inspect the public schools. 
Periodicals were multiplied ; and very significant for 
literature was the founding of the great magazines and 
reviews, which became the vehicles, not only of vigor- 
ous criticism, but also of excellent miscellaneous pro- 
ductions. They gathered about them groups of gifted 
writers and elevated the taste of the reading public. 
The Edinbiirgli Review was founded in 1802, the Lon- 
don Quarterly, its political opponent, in 1809, Black- 
wood's Magazine in 18 17, the Westminster Reviezv in 
1824, and Fj'asers Magazine in 1830. Two weekly 
papers of high order, the Spectator and the Atkenceum, 
both of which figure in later literature, were established 
in 1828. 

One of the best-known critics of the time was Francis 
Jeffrey. He was at the head of the Edinburgh Review 
for. more than a quarter of a century and wielded his 
critical pen with imperious spirit. Though Whiggish 
in politics, he was conservative in literature and had 
little patience with the literary innovations of the pe- 
riod. He treated Byron with contempt, belittled Scott, 
and pursued Wordsworth with relentless severity. But 
the results of this .unsympathetic and often ferocious 
criticism were not without benefit. Apart from the re- 
plies it provoked, it forced an examination of funda- 
mental principles, and grounded the new literature on 
a surer foundation. 

William Hazlitt justly ranks as one of the foremost of 



AGE OF SCOTT. 375 

English critics. Charles Lamb's quaint '' Essays of Elia " 
give him enduring fame. His "Dissertation upon Roast 
Pig " is a noted piece of humorous writing. John Wilson, 
for many years the leading spirit of Blackzvood, has earned 
a place in English literature under the pseudonym of 
"• Christopher North." John Lockhart, at first a contribu- 
tor to Blackwood, and afterward editor of the Quarterly 
Review, was conservative in his tastes and made severe 
attacks both upon Keats and Tennyson in his earlier 
poems. His '' Life of Scott," his father-in-law, is one of 
the best biographies in any language. Leigh Hunt's works 
were originally contributions to periodical literature. 

There are two historians that deserve mention, though 
neither attained the heights of the great triumvirate of the 
preceding period. Henry Hallam was both a historian and 
literary critic, distinguished for his extensive research and 
judicial fairness. His '* View of the State of Europe dur- 
ing the Middle Ages," which was published in 1818, his 
"Constitutional History of England," which dates from 
1827, and his '* Introduction to the Literature of Europe 
in the Fifteenth, Sixteenth, and Seventeenth Centuries," 
which was completed in 1839, ^^^ still standard works. 
By reason of his conversative tastes, he is somewhat less 
trustworthy as a critic than as a historian. William M it- 
ford's " History of Greece," which was completed in 18 18, 
is recognized as a work of scholarly ability, though it is 
seriously marred by the prejudices of the author. He was 
almost fanatical in his opposition to the democratic ten- 
dencies of his age. 

One of the most remarkable features of this penod is 
the place that woman now assumes in literature. Awak- 



376 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

ing to a sense of the conventional restraints by which she 
had long been surrounded, she began to desire a larger 
freedom of thought and action. The title of Mary Woll- 
stonecraft's book, "Vindication of the Rights of Woman," 
is indicative of the rising movement. An unusually large 
group of female writers, brought up under the influence of 
the closing decades of the eighteenth century, distinguished 
themselves in fiction and poetry. Ann Radcliffe belonged 
to the romantic school and employed " castles with secret 
passages, trap-doors, forests, banditti, abductions, sliding 
panels," as the machinery of her stories. Maria Edge- 
worth was a novehst of Irish life, and Scott said that her 
work suggested his Scottish romances. Jane Austen, who 
wrote realistic stories of contemporary social life, has been 
called the mother of the modern novel. Other writers be- 
longing to this galaxy are Anna Letitia Barbauld, Jane 
Porter, whose " Thaddeus of Warsaw " and " Scottish 
Chiefs" are still popular, and Hannah More, a poet, 
dramatist, and novelist of real ability. A list of their 
principal works will be found on a preceding page. 

Poetry, recovering from its brief eclipse in the preced- 
ing period, shines forth with unwonted splendor. Apart 
from the great representative names to be considered later, 
— Wordsworth, Byron, Shelley, — the list of secondary 
poets is unusually long and unusually good. 

Thomas Campbell early showed a striking literary pre- 
cocity. At the age of twenty-two, he published the " Pleas- 
ures of Hope," the success of which was instantaneous. 
Its opening lines are felicitous and well known : — 

• "At summer eve, when Heaven's ethereal bow 
Spans with bright arch the gUttering hills below, 



AGE OF SCOTT. ^yy 

Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye, 
Whose sunbright summit mingles with the sky? 
Why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear 
More sweet than all the landscape smiling near? 
'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, 
And robes the mountain in its azure hue." 

He did not profit much by his early success. The book- 
sellers offered him lucrative employment; but through 
procrastination and constitutional indolence, he disap- 
pointed their expectations and forfeited their confidence. 
In 1809 he pubHshed his romantic poem of "Gertrude of 
Wyoming," the scene of which is laid in Pennsylvania. It 
ranks next to the ''Pleasures of Hope." But it is, per- 
haps, in his lyrical pieces, among which are " Lochiel's 
Warning," - Hohenlinden," - Battle of the Baltic," - Ye 
Mariners of England," - O'Connor's Child," - Hdlowed 
Ground," - The Soldier's Dream," "The Last Man," that 
he attained the highest excellence. Elected lord rector 
of the University of Glasgow in 1826, he discharged his 
duties with a zeal that won admiration. He died in 1844 
a;nd was buried in Westminster Abbey. 

John Keats was a brilliant but short-lived poet. Had he 
lived to fulfil his early promise, it is probable that he would 
have stood among the first poets of the period. As it is, 
several of his poems take rank among the choicest produc- 
tions of the English muse. He began his literary career 
b)^the publication of some sonnets, which were favorably 
received. The sonnet on " Chapman's Homer," contain- 
ing the lines, — 

" Then felt I like some watcher of the skies 

When a new planet swims into his ken," 



3/8 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

is truly admirable. A volume of poems, published in 1817, 
was coldly received. The following year appeared " En- 
dymion," which contains some fine passages, the opening 
lines being well known : — 

" A thing of beauty is a joy forever ; 
Its loveliness increases ; it will never 
Pass into nothingness ; but still will keep 
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep 
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing." 

The *' lusciousness of the rhythm," which breaks com- 
pletely with Augustan models, gave offence to conserva- 
tive critics. The poem was savagely attacked both in 
Blackivood 2Ci\^XS\^ Quarterly. In 1820 Keats sent forth 
his third volume, in which his poetic genius conquered 
recognition" and secured for him an honorable place in 
English literature. His '* Hyperion," " Lamia," " Eve of 
St. Agnes," and his odes to a ''Nightingale," a ''Grecian 
Urn," and "Autumn," are all exquisite productions. He 
went to Italy shortly after the appearance of this volume, 
where he died of pulmonary consumption early in 1821. 
His headstone bears the simple inscription, dictated by 
himself, " Here lies one whose name was writ in water." 

Robert Southey is an example of untiring industry 
in literary pursuits. He depended upon literature for 
a living, and Byron pronounced him " the only existing 
man of letters." He worked with mechanical regularity 
and produced more than a hundred volumes of poetry and 
prose. He was a great lover of books ; and his library, 
which contained fourteen thousand volumes, De Quincey 
called his wife. When in his old age he became speech- 
less and imbecile, he still wandered around his library, 



AGE OF SCOTT. 379 

taking down his books and fondly pressing them to his 
Hps. 

As a poet, Southey was ambitious ; and nourishing his 
talents on Tasso, Ariosto, and Spenser, he contemplated 
and composed several lengthy epics. His '* Joan of Arc," 
a youthful performance, was well received. " Thalaba " 
was published in 1801, " Madoc," on which the poet was 
content to rest his fame, in 1805, and the ''Curse of 
Kehama " in 18 10. His longer poems abound in splendid 
imagery, but they are lacking in personal interest and 
dramatic art. He was made poet laureate in 18 13. 

"Thalaba, the Destroyer" is a rhythmical romance in 
irregular and unrhymed measure. The opening lines, 
perhaps the best in the poem, are very pleasing : — 

" How beautiful is night ! 
A dewy freshness fills the silent air ; 
No mist obscures, nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain 

Breaks the serene of heaven : 
In full-orbed glory yonder moon divine 

Rolls through the dark blue depths. 

Beneath her steady ray 

The desert circle spreads, 
Like the round ocean, girdled with the sky. 

How beautiful is night ! " 

Among his best short pieces are "The Scholar," " Auld 
Cloots," " March to Moscow," " Mary the Maid of the Inn," 
" Lodore," " The Well of St. Keyne." 

In prose Southey wrote criticism, biography, and history, 
in all which he exhibited great learning and an admirable 
style. His " Life of Nelson " is a classic biography. 
Among his other prose writings are the " Life of Cowper," 



380 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

" Life of Wesley," " The British Admirals," and *' History 
of the Peninsular War." " The uprightness and beauty of 
his character," says Saintsbury, " his wonderful helpfulness 
to others, and the uncomplaining way in which he bore 
what was almost poverty, are not more generally acknow- 
ledged than the singular and pervading excellence of his 
English prose style, the robustness of his literary genius, 
and his unique devotion to literature." 

Thomas Moore, born 'of Irish parentage in Dublin, al- 
ways remained an Irish patriot, and labored both in poetry 
and prose to advance the interests of his country. By his 
keen satires he brought reproach upon the oppressors of 
Ireland ; and by his songs he awakened and sustained ten- 
der and patriotic sentiments. No other poet except Byron 
was more popular in his day. He possessed great social 
gifts, — a good voice, admirable conversational talents, and 
a musical skill that enabled him to render effectively his 
erotic and patriotic songs. Though his poetry does not 
possess the highest qualities, — being artificial rather than 
genuine, glittering rather than true, — yet his poems, with 
their wit, sentiment, melody, are perused, especially by 
young people, with more interest than those of any of his 
contemporaries, with the possible exception of Byron. 

In 1 80 1 he published a collection of amatory verses, 
which earned him the position of poet laureate, and gained 
him the title of "the young Catullus of his day." In 1806 
he sent forth another volume, which the EdmbiirgJi Reviezv 
denounced as *'a corrupter of morals." Enraged at the 
severity of the criticism, the poet challenged Jeffrey. But 
the duel was stopped by the police, and on examination 
the pistols were found charged only with '' villainous salt- 



AGE OF SCOTT. ^gl 

petre " — a circumstance that Byron did not fail to notice 
in his '' English Bards and Scotch Reviewers " : — 

" Can none remember that eventful day, 
That ever glorious, almost fatal fray, 
When Little's leadless pistol met his eye, 
And Bow Street myrmidons stood laughing by ? " 

Among Moore's most popular and most enduring pro- 
ductions are the -Irish Melodies" — a collection of 
charming lyrics, tender, convivial, or patriotic, designed 
to accompany popular airs. Their composition was a 
congenial task, one well suited to the poet's powers. He 
was for Ireland what Burns was for Scotland — the singer 
of his people. But the songs of the two poets, while 
alike in attaining a high excellence, are very different. 
Moore is artificial, polished, reminding us of the drawing- 
room ; Burns is unconventional and genuine, suggesting 
the green fields and singing birds. 

Moore wrote two long and ambitious poems, - Lalla 
Rookh" and "The Loves of the Angels." Both are 
Oriental in character, but the former is far superior in 
interest and felicity of treatment. Through a course of 
laborious reading, he familiarized himself with Oriental 
customs and scenery. Lalla Rookh is an Oriental princess 
who with great pomp journeys from Delhi to Bucharia, 
where she is to marry the king. On the way she is en- 
tertained by a young minstrel, whose tender, passionate 
songs win her heart. With sadness she approaches the 
end of her journey; but what is her joy to find the amia- 
ble minstrel her future husband and the King of Bucharia ! 
The poem is true in its local coloring, sparkling with Orien- 



382 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

tal gems, and fragrant with Oriental musk and roses. A 

single quotation from the '' Paradise and Peri " must 

suffice : — 

" Go, wing thy flight from star to star, 
From world to luminous world, as far 

As the universe spreads its flaming wall ; 
Take all the pleasures of all the spheres, 
And multiply each through endless years, 
One minute of Heaven is worth them all." 

Among his prose works are "The Epicurean," an East- 
ern romance, the ** Life of Sheridan," which is a friendly 
panegyric, and the '' Life of Byron," which does not 
reveal the whole truth touching that nobleman's life and 
character. 



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possession of Mr. Constable of Edinburgh, now in thecoUection of Alaric A. Watts, Esq. 



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SIR WALTER SCOTT. 383 



SIR WALTER SCOTT. ' 

The greatest literary figure during the first quarter of 
the present century is undoubtedly Sir Walter Scott. He 
occupied scarcely less relative prominence for a time than 
did Samuel Johnson a few decades earlier. It is not un- 
common to associate his name with the period in which he 
^vas preeminent. He distinguished himself in both poetry 
nd prose. He created a species of romantic poetry that 
was received with great applause until it was eclipsed by 
the intenser productions of Byron. " Why did you quit 
poetry.''" a friend once inquired of Scott. ''Because 
Byron beat me," was the remarkably frank reply. He 
then turned to fiction ; and in his splendid series of histori- 
cal romances he stands preeminent not only among the 
writers of England, but of the world. 

Sir Walter Scott descended from a line distinguished 
for sports and arms rather than letters. One of his re- 
mote ancestors was once given the choice of being hanged, 
or marrying a woman who had won the prize for ugliness 
in four counties. After three days' deliberation he decided 
in favor of " meikle-mouthed Meg," who, be it said, made 
him an excellent wife. It was from her that our author 
possibly inherited his large mouth. His father was a 
dignified man, orderly in his habits, and fond of ceremony. 
It is said that he " absolutely loved a funeral " ; and from 
far and near he was sent for to superintend mortuary 
ceremonies. As a lawyer he frequently lost clients by 



384 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

insisting that they should be just — a sturdy uprightness 
that was transmitted to his illustrious son. 

Sir Walter's mother was a woman of superior native 
ability and of .excellent education. She had a good mem- 
ory and a talent for narration. '' If I have been able to 
do anything in the way of painting past times," he once 
wrote, " it is very much from the studies with which she 
presented me." He loved his mother tenderly ; and the 
evening after his burial a number of small objects that 
had once belonged to her were found arranged in careful 
order in his desk, where his eye might rest upon them 
every morning before he began his task. This is an in- 
stance of filial piety as touching as it is beautiful. 

Walter Scott, the ninth of twelve children, was born in 
Edinburgh, Aug. 15, 1771. On account of sickness he was 
sent into the country, where his childhood was spent in the 
midst of attractive scenery. Left lying out of doors one 
day, a thunder-storm arose ; and when his aunt ran to 
bring him in, she found him delighted with the raging 
elements, and shouting, " Bonny, bonny ! " at every flash 
of lightning. One of the old servants spoke of him as " a 
sweet-tempered bairn, a darling with all about the house." 
But at the same time he was active, fearless, and passion- 
ate. The Laird of Raeburn, a relative, once wrung the 
neck of a pet starling. " I flew at his throat like a wild 
cat," said Sir Walter, as he recalled the circumstance 
fifty years afterward, *' and was torn from him with no 
little difficulty." 

At school he established a reputation for irregular 
ability. He possessed great energy, vitality, and pride, 
and was naturally a leader among his fellow-pupils. He 



SIR WALTER SCOTT. 385 

had the gift of story-telling in a remarkable degree. He 
found difficulty in confining himself to the prescribed 
studies and persistently declined to learn Greek. In 
Latin he made fair attainments. He delighted in the 
past, reverenced existing institutions, sympathized with 
royalty, and as a boy, as in after life, he was a Tory. 

As a student of law at the University of Edinburgh 
Scott was noted for his gigantic memory and enormous 
capacity for work. His literary tastes ran in the direction 
of mediaeval Ufe, and he devoured legend and romance 
and border song with great avidity. He learned Italian 
to read Ariosto, and Spanish to read Cervantes, whose 
novels, he said, ''first inspired him with the desire to 
excel in fiction." But his memory retained only what 
suited his genius. He used to illustrate this characteristic 
by the story of an old borderer who once said to a Scotch 
divine : " No, sir, I have no command of my memory. It 
only retains what hits my fancy ; and probably, sir, if you 
were to preach to me for two hours, I would not be able, 
when you finished, to remember a word you had been 
saying." 

As a lawyer Scott was not notably successful. He was 
fond of making excursions over the country to visit locali- 
ties celebrated for natural beauty or historic events. In 
view of this habit, his father reproached him as being 
better fitted for a pedler than for a lawyer. He was 
rather fond, it must be said, of living — 

"One crowded hour of glorious life." 

"But drunk or sober," such is the testimony of one of 
his companions at this time, *' he was aye the gentleman." 

2C 



386 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

Scott practised at the bar fourteen years ; but his earnings 
never amounted to much more than two hundred pounds a 
year. In 1799 he was made sheriff of Selkirkshire on a 
salary of three hundred pounds ; and a few years later he 
became clerk of the session, — an officer in the court of 
Edinburgh, — a position that increased his income to six- 
teen hundred pounds. He was not eloquent as a pleader ; 
his tastes were averse to legal drudgery ; and his proclivi- 
ties for poetry and for rambling over the country did not 
enhance his reputation as a lawyer. But whether practis- 
ing at the bar or wandering over the country, "he was 
makin' himself a' the time " — storing his mind with the 
facts, legends, and characters which he was afterward 
to embody in his immortal works. 

The life of Scott was not without its romance, and, — 
but for the effect upon his character and works, we might 
say, — alas, its sorrow. He one day offered his umbrella 
to a beautiful young lady who was coming out of the 
Greyfriars church during a shower. It was graciously 
accepted. The incident led to an acquaintance, and, at 
least on the part of Scott, to a deep attachment. His 
large romantic nature was filled with visions of happiness. 
Then came disappointment. For some reason the fair 
Margaret rejected his attentions and married a rival. 
After the first resentment was past, this attachment re- 
mained throughout his life a source of tender recollec- 
tions. Years afterward he went to visit Margaret's 
mother and noted in his diary : " I fairly softened my- 
self, like an old fool, with recalling old stories till I was 
fit for nothing but shedding tears and repeating verses 
for the whole night." Within a twelvemonth of his 



SIR WALTER SCOTT. 387 

disappointment, urged on it may be by his pride, he 
married Miss Carpenter, a lady of French birth and 
parentage. Though it was ''a bird of paradise mating 
with an eagle," she made a good wife, and the union 
was upon the whole a happy one. 

Though Scott's greatest literary work was to be in 
prose, he began with poetry. His first undertaking was 
a translation from the German of Burger's spectral ballad, 
*' Lenore." Though his rendering is spirited, he was far 
too healthy-minded to be perfectly at home in treating 
spectral themes. He soon turned to more congenial sub- 
jects. From his college days he had been making a col- 
lection of old Scottish ballads. In 1802 he pubUshed in 
two volumes ''The Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," 
which was an immediate success. 

This ''proved to be a well," says Carlyle, "from which 
flowed one of the broadest rivers. Metrical Romances 
(which in due time pass into Prose Romances); the old 
life of men resuscitated for us; it is a mighty word ! Not 
as dead tradition, but as a palpable presence, the past 
stood before us. There they were, .the rugged old fight- 
ing men; in their doughty simplicity and strength, with 
their heartiness, their healthiness, their stout self-help, 
in their iron basnets, leather jerkins, jack-boots, in their 
quaintness of manner and costume ; there as they looked 
and lived. It was like a new-discovered continent in 
literature." 

The native bent of his mind, and his studies for many 
years, pecuHarly fitted him to restore and illustrate the sim- 
plicity and violence of the old border life. The transition 
to original poems, in which the legends and history of the 



388 ' ENGLISH LITERATURE, 

same region were embodied, was easily made. " The Lay 
of the Last Minstrel" was published in 1805 and at once 
became widely popular. More than two thousand copies 
were sold the first year; and by 1830 the sales reached 
forty-four thousand copies, bringing the author nearly a 
thousand pounds. 

Three years later " Marmion," his greatest poem, ap- 
peared ; and this was followed in 1810 by the ** Lady of 
the Lake." They were read with enthusiasm. They 
were new in subject and treatment. Without any pre- 
tension to classical regularity and finish, they were rapid, 
energetic, and romantic — the style exactly suited to the 
subject. "I am sensible," the author said, "that if there 
be anything good about my poetry or prose either, it is a 
hurried frankness of composition, which pleases soldiers, 
sailors, and yoimg people of bold and active dispositions." 
They are so simple in structure and thought as to be 
easily comprehended ; they abound in wild scenes and 
daring deeds ; they are suffused with a patriotic, martial 
spirit, and the delirious enjoyment of wild outdoor life. 

Scott's poetry may be characterized as objective. In 
place of meditation and mysticism, — a wrestling with the 
great mystery of existence, — we have graphic descrip- 
tions of external objects. He pictures things for us, as 
in the lines at the opening of " Marmion," descriptive of 
the castle : — 

"The warriors on the turrets high, 
Moving athwart the evening sky, 
Seemed forms of giant height ; 
Their armor, as it caught the rays, 
Flashed back again the western blaze, 
In lines of dazzling light." 



I 




js b 



SIR WALTER SCOTT. 389 \ 

J 

Some of his battle scenes are unsurpassed for their ] 

vividness and power. His lyric faculty is very great ; ; 

and some of the songs in ''The Lady of the Lake" are I 

almost unequalled in their picturesque melody. Take, for ! 

example, Ellen's song, beginning: — ; 

" Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er, 

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking ; • \ 

Dream of battle-fields no more, \ 

Days of danger, nights of waking. \ 

In our isle's enchanted hall, , 

Hands unseen thy couch are strewing ; \ 

Fairy strains of music fall, j 

Every sense in slumber dewing. \ 

Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, \ 

Dream of fighting fields no more : ' 

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, 1 
Morn of toil, nor night of waking," 

Nearly all of Scott's poetry was written in a beautiful * ■ 

little country house at Ashestiel. The locality is vividly '\ 

depicted in the first canto of '' Marmion " : — i 

" November's sky is chill and drear, \ 
November's leaf is red and sear : 

Late, gazing down the steepy linn, ; 

That hems our little garden in, ' 

Low in its dark and narrow glen, : 

You scarce the rivulet might ken, ^ 

So thick the tangled greenwood grew, \ 
So feeble trilled the streamlet through : 

Now, murmuring hoarse, and frequent seen, • j 

Through bush and briar no longer green, ] 

An angry brook, it sweeps the glade, \ 
Brawls over rock and wild cascade. 

And, foaming brown with double speed, 1 

Hurries its waters to the Tweed." : 



390 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

He devoted the first part of the day to his literary work. 
"Arrayed in his shooting-jacket, or whatever dress he 
meant to use till dinner-time, he was seated at his desk by 
six o'clock, all his papers arranged before him in the mo^t 
accurate order, and his books of reference marshalled 
around him on the floor, while at least one favorite dog lay 
watching his eye, just beyond the line of circumvallation. 
Thus, by the time the family assembled for breakfast, be- 
tween nine and ten, he had done enough, in his own lan- 
guage, 'to break the neck of the day's work.' " 

During the seven years of his residence at Ashestiel, 
his literary labors included, besides his poetry, a " Life of 
Dryden," ''The Secret History of James I.," and many 
other works of less importance. 

In 1812 Scott moved to Abbotsford, where he spent the 
rest of his life. He was a man of great personal and 
family pride. It was his ambition to live in great magnifi- 
cence and to dispense hospitality on a large scale. He 
bought a large area of land at an aggregate expense 
of twenty-nine thousand pounds and erected a baronial 
castle. Here he realized for a time his ideal of life. He 
was visited by distinguished men and hero-worshippers 
from all parts of the world. Indeed, his fame became op- 
pressive. His correspondence was enormous, and as many 
as sixteen parties of sight-seers visited Abbotsford in a 
single day. 

For his friends Scott was the prince of hosts. Devoting 
only the earlier part of the day to work, he placed his 
afternoons wholly at the service of his guests. Hunting 
was his favorite sport, and he led many a brilliant party 
over the hills and through the valleys to the echoing 



SIR WALTER SCOTT. 39 1 

music of his hounds. His large benevolent nature drew 
men to him. To all classes he was thoroughly kind. 
" Sir Walter speaks to every man as if they were blood 
relations," was a common description of his demeanor. 
Even the dumb animals recognized in him a friend. 

Apart from his social enjoyments, Scott found most de- 
light in planting trees. He greatly beautified his estate 
and imparted a taste for arboriculture to the landholders 
about him. " Planting and pruning trees," he said, *' I 
could work at from morning to night. There is a sort of 
self-congratulation, a little self-flattery, in the idea that 
while you are pleasing and amusing yourself, yOu are 
seriously contributing to the future welfare of the coun- 
try, and that your acorn may send its future ribs of oak 
to future victories like Trafalgar." 

The great mistake in Scott's life lay in his business ven- 
tures. Through them came ultimately embarrassment and 
disaster. In the hope of increasing his income, he estab- 
lished the publishing house of John Ballantyne & Co., in 
Edinburgh. John Ballantyne was a frivolous, dissipated 
man, wholly unfit for the management of the enterprise. 
Scott, though possessing sufficient discernment, was easily 
led away by his feelings. As a consequence, the ware- 
houses of the new firm were soon filled with a quantity of 
unsalable stock. Only the extensive sale of his novels 
saved the company from early bankruptcy. But ulti- 
mately the crash came, and in 1825 Scott found himself 
personally responsible for the enormous debt of one hun- 
dred and thirty thousand pounds. 

For years he had been the literary sovereign of Great 
Britain. He had lived in the midst of great splendor at 



392 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

Abbotsford. To find his means swept away in a single 
moment was a terrific blow, sufificient to crush an ordinary 
man. But at no time in his career did Scott exhibit so 
fully his heroic character. Instead of crushing him, mis- 
fortune only called forth his strength. With indomitable 
will and sturdy integrity he set to work to meet his im- 
mense obligations. There is nothing more heroic in the 
course of English literature. Work after work came from 
his pen in rapid succession. He well-nigh accomplished 
his purpose; but at last, as we shall see, his mind and 
body gave way under the tremendous strain, and he fell 
a martyr to high-souled integrity. 

In 1 8 14, when the affairs of Ballantyne & Co. were in a 
perplexing condition, Scott took up a work in prose, which 
he had begun in 1805, and pushed it rapidly to comple- 
tion. This was ''Waverley," the first of that wonderful 
series which has placed his name at the head of historical 
novelists. Though published anonymously, as were all 
its successors, it met with astonishing success. It decided 
his future literary career. His poetic vein had been ex- 
hausted, and Byron's verse was attracting pubHc atten- 
tion. Henceforth he devoted himself to historical fiction, 
for which his native powers and previous training were 
precisely adapted. 

For the remainder of his life he composed, in addition 
to other literary labors, on an average two romances a 
year, illustrating every period in Scottish, Enghsh, and 
continental history from the time of the Crusades to the 
middle of the eighteenth century. The series is, upon 
the whole, remarkably even in excellence ; but among the 
most interesting may be mentioned " Old Mortality," 



SIR WALTER SCOTT. 393 

which describes the sufferings of the Covenanters ; " The 
Heart of Midlothian," to which many critics assign the 
highest rank; ** Ivanhoe," which is very popular; and 
" Quentin Durward," which holds a distinguished place. 

Before this time attempts at the historical novel had 
been artificial. Contemporary ways were simply trans- 
ferred to a more or less remote period, without regard to 
what is known as ''local coloring." While working in the 
romantic spirit that had already appeared, Scott created in 
its true sense the historical novel as a real transcript of 
the past, and raised it to an excellence that has never 
been surpassed. He brought before the mind a magnifi- 
cent living panorama, often idealized, indeed, of previous 
ages. His work is not without defects and limitations ; 
but, '' after all, it is such a body of literature as, for com- 
plete liberation from any debts to models, fertility and 
abundance of invention, nobility of sentiment, variety and 
keenness of delight, nowhere else exists." 

In the composition of these works Scott wrote with 
extraordinary rapidity. ''Guy Mannering" is said to 
have been written in six weeks. Carlyle finds fault with 
what he calls the "extempore method." But in reality it 
was not extempore. It had been Scott's delight from 
childhood to store his capacious memory with the anti- 
quarian and historical information which he embodied in 
his novels. Instead of laborious special investigations, he 
had but to draw on this great reservoir of learning. He 
did not wait for moments of inspiration ; but morning 
after morning he returned to his task, with the same zest, 
and turned out the same amount of work. 

Even acute physical suffering did not overcome his 



394 • ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

creative power. He dictated ** The Bride of Lammer- 
moor," "The Legend of Montrose," and " Ivanhoe " to 
amanuenses. His suffering sometimes forced from him 
cries of agony. When his amanuensis once begged him 
to stop dictating, he only answered, '* Nay, WiUie, only 
see that the doors are fast ; I would fain keep all the cry 
as well as all the wool to ourselves." A few other writers 
have equalled or even surpassed Scott in the number of 
novels; but, if we consider the quality of work and the 
many centuries covered by his romances, we must regard 
him as still without a successful rival. 

The Waverley novels are characterized by largeness of 
thought and style. They turn on public rather than pri- 
vate interests. In place of narrow social circles, we are 
introduced into the midst of great public movements. 
Crusaders, Papists, Puritans, Cavaliers, Roundheads, Jaco- 
bites, Jews, freebooters, preachers, schoolmasters, gyp- 
sies, beggars, move before us with the reality of life. 
" His comprehensive power," says Stopford Brooke, 
" which drew with the same certainty so many characters 
in so many various classes, was the direct result of his 
profound sympathy with the simpler feehngs of the human 
heart, and of his pleasure in writing so as to make human 
life more beautiful and more good in the eyes of men." 

Scott's style corresponds to the largeness of his subjects. 
He paints with a large brush. He could not have 
achieved distinction in domestic novels, with their petty 
interests and trifling distinctions. He was an admirer of 
Miss Austen, in reference to whose manner he said : ** The 
big bow-wow strain I can do myself, like any now going ; 
but the exquisite touch which renders ordinary common- 



SIR WALTER SCOTT. 



395 



place things and characters interesting, from the truth of 
the description and the sentiment, is denied me." '' Scott 
needed," observes Hutton, " a certain largeness of type, a 
strongly marked class-life, and, where it was possible, a free 
out-of-doors life, for his deHneations. No one could paint 
beggars and gypsies, and wandering fiddlers, and merce- 
nary soldiers, and peasants, and farmers, and lawyers, and 
magistrates, and preachers, and courtiers, and statesmen, 
and best of all perhaps queens and kings, with anything 
like his ability." 

In 1825, after the failure of Ballantyne & Co., Scott reso- 
lutely set to work to pay his creditors. His only resource 
was his pen. Although his cherished hopes were all 
blasted, he toiled on indomitably till nature gave way. 
Two days after the news of the crash reached him, he was 
working on ''Woodstock." In three years he earned and 
paid over to his creditors no less than forty thousand 
pounds. If his health had continued, he would have dis- 
charged the enormous debt. But unfavorable symptoms 
began to manifest themselves in 1829, and the following 
year he had a stroke of paralysis. Though he recovered 
from it, his faculties never regained their former clearness 
and strength. Nevertheless, in spite of the urgent advice 
of physicians and friends, he continued to toil on. " Count 
Robert of Paris" and "Castle Dangerous" appeared in 
1 83 1. But they showed a decHne in mental vigor — his 
magic wand was broken. An entry in his diary at this 
time is truly pathetic : " The blow is a stunning one, I sup- 
pose, for I scarcely feel it. It is singular, but it comes 
with as little surprise as if I had a remedy ready : yet God 
knows I am at sea in the dark, and the vessel leaky, I 



396 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

think, into the bargain." It is the pathos of a strong man's 
awaking to a consciousness that his strength is gone. 

A sea voyage was recommended; and in October, 1831, 
he sailed, in a vessel put at his disposal by the government, 
for Malta. He visited various points on the Mediterra- 
nean, but without material benefit. With the failing of his 
strength, he longed for Abbotsford. As he caught sight 
of the towers once more, he sprang up with a cry of de- 
light. A few days before his death he called his son-in- 
law Lockhart to his bedside. " Lockhart," he said, *' I 
may have but a minute to speak to you. My dear, be a 
good man, — be virtuous, — be religious, — be a good man. 
Nothing else will give you any comfort when you come to 
lie here." These were almost his last words. Four days 
afterward, during which time he showed scarcely any signs 
of consciousness, he quietly passed away, Sept. 21, 1832, 
— one of the grandest, but, also, — if we think of his dis- 
appointed hopes, — one of the saddest characters in English 
literature. 



^ 





LORD BYRON, 397 



LORD BYRON. 

No other poet has so embodied himself in his poetry as 
Byron. Had he not possessed a powerful individuality, 
his works would long since have perished. He was 
utterly lacking in the independent creative power of 
Shakespeare, who never identified himself with his char- 
acters. Throughout Byron's many works, we see but one 
person — a proud, misanthropic, sceptical, ungovernable 
man. Whatever exaggerations of feature there may be in 
the portrait, we recognize the essential outlines of the poet 
himself. 

His poetry is largely autobiographical and his utterance 
intense. Without the careful artistic polish of many 
minor poets, his manner is rapid, stirring, powerful. He 
was, perhaps, the most remarkable poetic genius of the 
century ; yet his powers were not turned to the best 
account. He lacked the balance of a noble character and 
a well-regulated life. On reading a collection of Burns's 
poems, he once exclaimed : " What an antithetical mind ! 

— tenderness, roughness — delicacy, coarseness — senti- 
ment, sensuality — soaring and grovelling — dirt and deity 

— all mixed up in that one compound of inspired clay." 
The same antitheses might be applied with equal truth to 
himself. 

His place in literature is not yet fixed. " In my mind," 
wrote Carlyle, " Byron has been sinking at an accelerated 



398 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

rate for the last ten years and has now reached a very 
low level." On the other hand, Taine declares that *'he 
is so great and so English, that from him alone we shall 
learn more truths of his country and his age than from all 
the rest put together." 

When the final verdict is made up, the Scotchman will 
probably be nearer the truth than the Frenchman. The 
finest strains of poetry are not to be found in his produc- 
tions ; and the moral sense of the world has become too 
strong to approve his flippant scepticism or condone his 
shameful immoralities. He once called himself, " the 
grand Napoleon of the realms of rhyme." The compari- 
son is not unjust ; but in both cases alike the glamour of 
brilliant achievement has been stripped off, and the for- 
bidding personal character brought to light. Byron was 
endowed with extraordinary ability ; but in large measure 
he used his powers to vent his misanthropy, to mock at 
virtue and religion, and to conceal the hideousness of vice. 

George Gordon, Lord Byron, was born in London, 
Jan. 22, 1788. His ancestry runs back in an unbroken 
line of nobility to the time of William the Conqueror. His 
father was an unprincipled and heartless profligate, who 
married an heiress to get her property, and who, as soon 
as this was squandered, abandoned her. His mother was 
a proud, passionate, hysterical woman, who alternately 
caressed and abused her child. At one moment treating 
him with extravagant fondness, at the next she reproached 
him as a " lame brat," and flung the poker at his head. 
''Your mother's a fool," said a school companion to him. 
" I know it," was the painful and humiliating answer. 
With such parentage and such rearing, it becomes us to 



LORD BYRON. 399 

temper somewhat the severity of our judgment of his 
character. 

He was sent to school at Harrow. " I soon found," 
wrote the head-master shortly afterward, "that a wild 
mountain colt had been submitted to my management." 
Byron did not take much interest in the prescribed studies 
and never became an accurate scholar. His reading, how- 
ever, was extensive, and he learned French and Itahan. 
He formed a few warm friendships. During one of his 
vacations, he fell in love with Mary Ann Chaworth, whose 
father the poet's grand-uncle had slain in a tavern brawl. 
He was fifteen, and she was two years older. Looking 
upon him as a boy, she did not take his attachment seri- 
ously, and a year later married another. To Byron, who 
loved her with all the ardor of his nature, it was a griev- 
ous disappointment; and years afterward, when he him- 
self stood at the altar, recollections of her disturbed his 
soul. The story is told in "The Dream," a poem of 
much beauty : — 

" The boy had fewer summers, but his heart 
Had far outgrown his years, and to his eye 
There was but one beloved face on earth." 

In 1805 Byron entered Trinity College, Cambridge, 
with which he was connected for nearly three years. 
Like many of his predecessors of independent genius — 
Bacon, Milton,, Locke, Gibbon — he cared little for the 
university training. He was fond of outdoor sports and 
excelled in cricket, boxing, riding, and shooting. Along 
with a good deal of miscellaneous reading, he wrote 
verses, and in 1808 he pubUshed a volume entitled " Hours 



400 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

of Idleness." The work gave little evidence of poetic 
genius, and was the subject of a rasping critique in the 
Edinburgh Review. "The poesy of this young lord," it 
was said with some justice, "belongs to the class which 
neither gods nor men are said to permit. Indeed, we do 
not recollect to have seen a quantity of verse with so few 
deviations in either direction from that exact standard." 

While affecting contempt for pubHc opinion, Byron was 
always acutely sensitive to adverse criticism ; and the 
exasperating attack of the Edinburgh Review stung him 
like a blow, rousing him to fury. The result was, a little 
later, the furious and indiscriminate onslaught known as 
" English Bards and Scotch Reviewers." " Prepare," he 
shouted, — 

" Prepare for rhyme — Til publish right or wrong ; 
Fools are my theme, let satire be my song." 

The first edition was exhausted in a month. Though 
violent, indiscriminate, and often unjust, the satire indi- 
cated something of his latent power. 

In 1809, after a few weeks of wild revel at his ancestral 
seat of Newstead Abbey, he set out upon his travels and 
visited Portugal, Spain, Greece, and Turkey. His restless 
spirit found some degree of satisfaction in roving from 
place to place. While continuing to lead an ill-regulated 
life, he carried with him the eyes of a keen observer and 
the sentiments of a great poet. His experience and obser- 
vation are given in the first two cantos of "Childe Harold's 
Pilgrimage." Though he affirmed that Childe Harold is 
a fictitious character, it is impossible not to identify him 
with the poet himself. 



LORD BYRON. 4OI 

" Whilome in Albion's isle there dwelt a youth, 
Who ne in virtue's ways did take delight ; 
But spent his days in riot most uncouth, 
And vexed with mirth the drowsy ear of night. 

And now Childe Harold was sore sick at heart. 
And from his fellow bacchanals would flee ; 
'Tis said at times the sullen tear would start, 
But pride congealed the drop within his ee : 
Apart he stalked in joyless reverie. 
And from his native land resolved to go. 
And visit scorching climes beyond the sea ; 
With pleasure drugged he almost longed for woe. 
And e'en for change of scene would seek the shades below." 

The poem is written in Spenserian stanza, and the anti- 
quated style which he affected at first was soon cast aside. 
It opened a new field, and its rich descriptions seized the 
public fancy. It ran through seven editions in four weeks, 
and to use the author's words, " He woke up one morning 
to find himself famous." 

The other results of his Eastern travels are " The 
Giaour," "The Bride of Abydos," "The Corsair," and 
" Lara " — poetical romances of passion and violence, which 
were received with outbursts of applause. They equalled or 
surpassed Scott in his own field — a fact which he had the 
judgment to recognize and the manliness to confess. 
" The Bride of Abydos " contains, in its opening lines, a 
beautiful imitation of Mignon's song in Goethe's " Wilhelm 
Meister": — 

" Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle 

Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime? 
Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle. 
Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime! " 
2 D 



402 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

" The Corsair " is written in the heroic couplet of Pope. 
" The stanza of Spenser," Byron says in the dedication, ** is 
perhaps too slow and dignified for narrative, though I con- 
fess, it is the measure most after my own heart : Scott 
alone, of the present generation, has hitherto completely 
triumphed over the fatal facility of the octosyllabic verse, 
and this is not the least victory of his fertile and mighty 
genius ; in blank verse, Milton, Thomson, and our dram- 
atists are the beacons that shine along the deep, but warn 
us from the rough and barren rock on which they are kin- 
dled. The heroic couplet is not the most popular measure 
certainly ; but as I did not deviate into the other, from a 
wish to flatter what is called public opinion, I shall quit it 
without further apology." 

Byron had returned to England in 1812, after an absence 
of two years ; and while the various works mentioned 
were appearing, he led a fashionable and dissipated life in 
London. When the right mood was on him, he had the 
power of making himself highly entertaining. His pres- 
ence was striking. " As for poets," says Scott, " I have 
seen all the best of my time and country ; and though 
Burns had the most glorious eye imaginable, I never 
thought any of them could come up to an artist's notion of 
the character, except Byron. His countenance is a thing 
to dream of." 

Byron was naturally idolized by women ; but never dis- 
cerning the nobler elements of their character, he set a 
low estimate upon them. ** I regard them," he says, *'as 
very pretty but inferior creatures, who are as little in 
their place at our tables as they would be in our council 
chambers. ... I look upon them as grown-up children." 



tfi 



LORD BYRON. 403 

He was destitute of the power of characterization as we 
see it in our best novelists and poets. His heroines are 
all of one type — Oriental beauties, loving and passion- 
ate, but without intellectual aspiration and true womanly 
tenderness. 

In 181 5 he married Miss Milbanke ; but there was no 
love on either side, and it proved an ill-sorted match. 
Though an excellent woman, his wife was exacting and 
unsympathetic. Impatient at his late hours, she inquired 
when he was going to leave off writing verses. On the 
other hand, he was fitful, violent, and immoral. 

At the end of a year, and after the birth of their 
daughter Ada, she went to her father's, and informed 
Byron that she did not intend ever to return to him. 
The separation created a sensation ; and the burden of 
blame, as was no doubt just, fell upon him. He sank 
in popular esteem as suddenly as he had risen. He 
dared not go to the theatres for fear of being hissed, nor 
to Parliament for fear of being insulted. His poem *' Fare 
Thee Well " was addressed to his wife after their separa- 
tion. An acquaintance with the facts makes it hard for 
us to believe in the sincerity of what would otherwise be 
a pathetic poem : — 

" Though my many faults defaced me, 

Could no other arm be found 
Than the one which once embraced me, 
To inflict a cureless wound ? 

" Yet, oh yet, thyself deceive not, 
Love may sink by slow decay. 
But by sudden wrench, believe not 
Hearts can thus be torn away." 



404 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

The result of the opprobrium, which this unfortunate 
event in his Ufe brought upon him, is given in his own 
words : " I felt that, if what was whispered and muttered 
and murmured was true, I was unfit for England ; if false, 
England was unfit for me." Accordingly, in 1816, dis- 
appointed and burdened at heart, he left his native shore 

never to return. 

"I depart, 

Whither I know not ; but the hour's gone by. 

When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad mine eye. 

"Once more upon the waters! yet once more! 
And the waves bound beneath me as a steed 
That knows his rider. Welcome to their roar! 
Swift be their guidance, wheresoever it lead! 
Though the strained mast should quiver as a reed, 
And the rent canvas fluttering strew the gale, 
Still I must on ; for I am as a weed 
Flung from the rock, on ocean's foam to sail, 
Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath prevail." 

With this voluntary exile he entered upon a new era 
of authorship, in which he attained to the full maturity of 
his powers. At Geneva he wrote the third, and at Venice 
the fourth canto of '' Childe Harold," and at once placed 
himself among the great masters of English verse. Land- 
scapes of unsurpassed majesty and beauty are portrayed; 
history lives again ; our feelings are stirred with deep 
emotion. Treasures are found on every page. For ex- 
ample : — 

"The sky is changed! — and such a change! O night, 
And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong. 
Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light 
Of a dark eye in woman! Far along, 



LORD BYRON. 405 

From peak to peak, the rattling crags among, 
Leaps the live thunder! Not from one lone cloud, 
But every mountain now hath found a tongue. 
And Jura answers through her misty shroud, 
Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud." 

Or again : — 

" I see before me the gladiator lie : 
He leans upon his hand — his manly brow 
Consents to death, but conquers agony. 
And his drooped head sinks gradually low — 
And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow 
From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one. 
Like the first of a thunder shower ; and now 
The arena swims around him — he is gone. 
Ere ceased the inhuman shout that hailed the wretch who won." 

Once more : — 

" There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, 
There is a rapture on the lonely shore, 
There is society where none intrudes, 
By the deep sea, and music in its roar : 
I love not man the less, but nature more, 
From these our interviews, in which I steal 
From all I may be or have been before. 
To mingle with the universe, and feel 
What I can ne'er express^, yet cannot all conceal." 

At Geneva he wrote the touching story of Bonnivard, 
''The Prisoner of Chillon," which belongs to the group of 
romantic tales. There is no resemblance between the 
hero of the poem and the historic prisoner of Chillon, of 
whom Byron knew little or nothing at the time he wrote. 
"When the poem was composed," he frankly confesses, 
'' I was not sufficiently aware of the history of Bonnivard, 
or I should have endeavored to dignify the subject by 



406 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

an attempt to celebrate his courage and his virtues." It 
is a pathetic story, with some beautiful lines : — 

" Lake Leman lies by Chillon's walls : 
A thousand feet in depth below 
Its massy waters meet and flow ; 
Thus much the fathom-line was sent 
From Chillon's snow-white battlement, 
Which round about the wave enthrals." 

From Switzerland, Byron went to Italy, living for a time 
at Venice, Ravenna, Pisa, and Genoa. His Italian life was 
voluptuous and immoral. In every place of sojourn, how- 
ever, he continued to write, composing many works of high 
excellence. ''Cain" is a powerful drama. One of the 
characters is Lucifer, of whom Byron apologetically says, 
" It was difficult for me to make him talk like a clergyman 
upon the same subjects." "Manfred" and " Sardana- 
palus " are other dramas. The "Vision of Judgment," a 
satire on George the Third and " Bob Southey," is not 
reverent, but it is the wittiest production of its class in our 
language. " Don Juan," his longest poem, is a conglom- 
erate of wit, satire, and immorality, relieved at intervals 
by sage reflection and delicate poetic sentiment. It shows 
at once the author's genius and degradation. Perhaps he 
never wrote more beautiful Hnes than these : — 

" 'Tis sweet to hear, 
At midnight on the blue and moonlit deep, 

The song and oar of Adrians gondolier, 

By distance mellowed o'er the water's sweep. 

'Tis sweet to see the evening star appear ; 
'Tis sweet to listen as the night-winds creep 

From leaf to leaf ; 'tis sweet to view on high 

The rainbow, based on ocean, span the sky. 



1 



LORD BYRON. 407 

"'Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bark 

Bay deep-mouthed welcome as we draw near home ; 

'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark 
Our coming, and look brighter when we come. 

'Tis sweet to be awakened by the lark, 

Or lulled by falling waters ; sweet the hum 

Of bees, the voice of girls, the song of birds, 

The lisp of children, and their earliest words." 

Notwithstanding its power and the frequent beauty of 
single passages, Byron's poetry has serious defects. The 
rapidity with which he wrote prevented a high degree of 
artistic finish. Its structure and rhyme are sometimes 
whimsical or perverse. It is lacking in high seriousness, 
without which poetry never reaches the greatest heights. 
It is, indeed, a reflection of the poet's Hfe, and to that ex- 
tent may be pronounced true ; but because his Hfe was 
perverse and wrong, his poetry is lacking in divine truth. 
It brings no helpful message to humanity. His criticism 
of life is destructive ; he never reached the wisdom that 
replaces evil with good ; and in view of these facts, he 
may justly be said to belong to the Satanic school of letters. 
" He refreshes us," to use the words of Carlyle, *' not with 
the divine fountain, but too often with vulgar strong waters, 
stimulating indeed to the taste, but soon ending in dislike, 
or even nausea." 

Though few English authors were ever more popular at 
home, Byron's influence on the Continent was still greater. 
" He simply took possession of the Continent of Europe 
and kept it," says Saintsbury. "He was one of the dom- 
inant influences and determining causes of the French 
Romantic movement ; in Germany, though the failure of 
literary talents and activity of the first order in that coun- 



408 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

try early in this century made his school less important, he 
had great power over Heine, its one towering genius ; and 
he was almost the sole master of young Russia, young 
Italy, young Spain, in poetry. Nor, though his active and 
direct influence has of course been exhausted by time, can 
his reputation on the Continent be said ever to have waned." 

At length the aimless and voluptuous life he was lead- 
ing filled him with satiety. He had drained the cup of 
pleasure to its dregs of bitterness. He began to long for 
a life of action. " If I live ten years longer," he wrote in 
1822, "you will see that it is not all over with me. 
I don't mean in literature, for that is nothing — and I do 
not think it was my vocation ; but F shall do something." 

Greece was at this time struggling for independence 
from Turkish tyranny. Byron was a friend of liberty ; 
the struggling Greeks touched his sympathies. Accord- 
ingly, he embarked for Greece in 1823 to aid them in their 
struggle. As he was about to depart, the shadow of com- 
ing disaster fell upon him. *' I have a sort of boding," he 
said to some friends, " that we see each other for the last 
time, as something tells me I shall never return from 
Greece." 

He was received at Missolonghi with salvos of mus- 
ketry and music. He received a military commission, and 
in his subsequent movements displayed ability and cour- 
age. But before he had been of much assistance to the 
Greeks, he was seized with a virulent fever, and died April 
9, 1824. The cities of Greece contended for his body; 
but it was taken to England, where, sepulture in West- 
minster Abbey having been refused, it was conveyed to 
the village church of Hucknall. 



LORD BYRON. 



409 



Such lives are unutterably sad. Byron possessed what 

most men spend their lives for in vain — genius, rank, 

power, fame ; yet he lived a wretched man. His peace 

of mind was broken, and his body prematurely worn by 

vicious passions. He was himself oppressed with a sense 

of failure ; and less than three months before his death he 

wrote : — 

" My days are in the yellow leaf ; 

The flowers and fruits of love are gone ; 

The worm, the canker, and the grief, 

Are mine alone ! " 

Life had lost its charm ; and all he sought was a mar- 
tial death in that land of ancient heroes : — 

" Seek out, less often sought than found, 
A soldier's grave — for thee the best; 
Then look around, and choose thy ground, 
And take thy rest." 



410 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 

In striking contrast with the restless, passionate life of 
Byron stands the peaceful, uneventful life of Wordsworth. 
Instead of furious, tormenting passions, there is a self- 
poised, peaceful life of contemplation. Byron imparted to 
the beautiful or sublime scenes of nature the colorings 
of his turbulent thoughts and violent emotions ; Words- 
worth brought to mountain, stream, and flower the docility 
of a reverent and loving spirit. His soul was open to the 
lessons of the outward world, which to him was pervaded 
by an invisible presence. In his pride and misanthropy, 
Byron felt no sympathy with the sufferings and struggles 
of humanity. His censorious eye perceived only the foi- 
bles and frailties that lie on the surface. With a far no- 
bler spirit and a keener insight, Wordsworth discerned 
beauty and grandeur in human Hfe and aspired to be 
helpful to his fellow-men. " It is indeed a deep satisfac- 
tion," he wrote near the close of his life, " to hope and be- 
lieve that my poetry will be, while it lasts, a help to the 
cause of virtue and truth, especially among the young." 
While Byron trampled on the laws of morality, ruined his 
home and turned the joys of life to ashes, Wordsworth 
lived in the midst of quiet domestic happiness — humble 
indeed, but glorified by fidelity, friendship, and love. 
Byron died in early manhood enslaved by evil habits and 



J 




Engraved by J. Bombey after the painting by W. Boxall, London. Published 1832. 



^^^^.^-py^ 



1 



m 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 4I I 

oppressed with the emptiness of life ; Wordsworth reached 
an honored old age, and passed away upheld with pre- 
cious hopes. The one may be admired for his power and 
meteoric splendor ; the other will be honored and loved 
for his upright character, his human sympathy, and his 
helpful teachings. 

WilHam Wordsworth was born at Cockermouth in Cum- 
berland County, April 7, 1770, of an ancient family. His 
violent and moody temper as a child filled his mother with 
anxiety about his future. He in no way distinguished 
himself at school, though some of the verses he then com- 
posed were well spoken of. 

At the age of seventeen he entered Cambridge, where 
he gave no promise of his future greatness. His genius 
developed slowly. It was not from books, but from na- 
ture, that he derived the greatest inspiration and help. 
The celebrated Lake District, in which he was born and 
in which his school-days and the greater part of his 
maturity were spent, is a region of varied and beautiful 
scenery. With its mountains, forests, and lakes, it is 
grander than the typical English landscape, yet without 
the overpowering sublimity of Switzerland. It was a re- 
gion specially suited to awaken and develop the peculiar 
powers @f Wordsworth. He moved among the natural 
beauties of the country with an ill-defined but exquisite 
pleasure. In his own words : — 

'• The ever-living universe, 
Turn where I might, was opening out its glories ; 
And the independent spirit of pure youth 
Called forth at every season new delights. 
Spread round my steps like sunshine o'er green fields." 



412 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



1 



In 1 791 Wordsworth took the degree of Bachelor of 
Arts, and left the university without having decided upon 
a vocation. " He did not feel himself good enough for 
the church," he said years afterward ; '* he felt that his 
mind was not properly disciplined for that holy office, and 
that the struggle between his conscience and his impulses 
would have made life a torture." He was disinclined to 
the law ; and though he fancied that he had talents for 
the profession of arms, he feared that he might fall a prey 
to disease in foreign lands. He passed some time in 
London without a definite aim and also without much 
profit. He felt out of place amidst the rush and din of 
the city. Like the " Farmer of Tilsbury Vale," whom he 
afterward described : — 

" In the throng of the town like a stranger is he, 
Like one whose own country's far over the sea ; 
And nature, while through the great city he hies, 
Full ten times a day takes his heart by surprise." 

After a few months he went to France for the purpose 
of learning the language. His sympathies, which had 
been with the revolutionists, were intensified by an 
acquaintance at Orleans with the republican general 
Beaupuis. Returning to Paris, Wordsworth contemplated 
placing himself at the head of the Girondist party — a 
step that would inevitably have brought him to the guil- 
lotine. From this danger he was saved by his friends, 
who, not in sympathy with his republicanism, stopped his 
allowance, and thus compelled him to return to England. 
The excesses into which the Revolution ran were a rude 
shock to him. He was driven to the verge of scepticism : — 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 413 

" Even the visible universe 
Fell under the dominion of a taste 
Less spiritual, with microscopic view 
Was scanned, as I had scanned the moral world." 

But his thoughtful nature could not rest in unbelief. A 
sympathetic study of nature, the beautiful devotion of his 
sister Dorothy, and a deeper insight into the lives of men, 
restored his healthfulness and peace of mind. As he 
advanced in years, he gave up the ardent republican hopes 
of his youth, and settled down into a staid conservatism. 

There are few lives that might better serve to illustrate 
the doctrine of a special providence. All through his 
career, the needed help came to him at the right moment. 
Wordsworth had nursed with tender care a young man 
attacked by consumption. Upon his death it was found 
that he had left the poet a legacy of nine hundred pounds. 
Nothing could have come more opportunely. With this 
small sum Wordsworth settled with his sister in a little 
cottage at Racedown in Dorsetshire. Here be began to 
devote himself to poetry in earnest. In his sister he 
found a congenial and helpful companion. She filled his 
home with sunshine. Her poetic sensibilities were keenly 
alive to the beauties of nature. In grateful recognition 
of her helpfulness, the poet says : — 

" She gave me eyes, she gave me ears, 
And humble cares, and delicate fears ; 
A heart the fountain of sweet tears ; 
And love, and thought, and joy." 

With a beautiful devotion she found her life-work in 
aiding her gifted brother to fulfil his mission. 

The first volume of Wordsworth is entitled *' Lyrical 



414 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

Ballads." It was published in 1798, and contained, be- 
sides Coleridge's ** Ancient Mariner," and several pieces 
that were ridiculed for triviality, *' We Are Seven," ** Ex- 
postulation and Reply," " The Tables Turned," and above 
all " Tintern Abbey," all of which contain the essential 
principles of Wordsworth's poetry. Indeed, the '' Tintern 
Abbey" more than any other single poem contains the 
revelation that the poet had to make to the world. The 
following passage, besides presenting the poet's view of 
nature, is one of great beauty : — 

« And I have felt 
A presence that disturbs me with the joy 
Of elevated thoughts : a sense sublime 
Of something far more deeply interfused, 
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, 
And the round ocean and the living air 
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man : 
A motion and a spirit, that impels 
All thinking things, all objects of all thought. 
And rolls through all things. '' 

Unfortunately the trivial pieces attracted most attention, 
and the work was received with coldness and ridicule. 
"The Idiot Boy" — a delightful poem to those who can feel 
the pathos of childish imbecility and the beauty of maternal 
love and solicitude — was the subject of one of the crudest 
passages in the " English Bards and Scotch Reviewers." 
Speaking of Wordsworth, whom he denominates " a mild 
apostate from poetic rule," Byron continues : — 

" Thus when he tells the tale of Betty Foy, 
The idiot mother of an idiot boy, 
A moon-struck silly lad who lost his way. 
And like his bard confounded night with day, 



J 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 415 

So close on each pathetic part he dwells, 
And each adventure so sublimely tells, 
That all who view the idiot in his glory, 
Conceive the bard the hero of the story." 

Immediately after the publication of the ''Lyrical Bal- 
lads " Wordsworth and his sister went to Germany in order 
to improve their imperfect acquaintance with the German 
language. They passed the winter at Goslar ; but as they 
seem to have made no acquaintances, their means of advance- 
ment was confined to reading German books privately. 

The winter was severe, and their comforts were few. 
Wordsworth says : " I slept in a room over a passage that 
was not ceiled. The people of the house used to say, 
rather unfeelingly, that they expected that I should be 
frozen to death some night." Notwithstanding these dis- 
comforts, his muse was active, and he produced some of 
his most charming and characteristic pieces, i^mong which 
are '' L-ucy Gray," "Ruth," ''Nutting," and the "Poet's 
Epitaph." It was here, too, that " The Prelude," the poeti- 
cal autobiography of the author's mental growth, was 
begun. "'The Prelude,'" says a biographer, "is a book of 
good augury for human nature. We feel in reading it as 
if the stock of mankind were sound. The soul seems 
going on from strength to strength by the mere develop- 
ment of her inborn power." 

"The Prelude" throws much light on Wordsworth's 
intellectual development and his poetic characteristics. 
It shows us that from childhood nature had a peculiar fas- 
cination for him. Its varied scenes of beauty, majesty, 
and power left a deep impression on his sensitive nature. 
At the age of ten, he tells us : — 



4l6 ENGLISH LITERATURE, 

" Even then 
I held unconscious intercourse with beauty 
Old as creation, drinking in a pure 
Organic pleasure from the silver wreaths 
Of curling mist, or from the level plain 
Of waters colored by impending clouds." 

But, at the same time, the beautiful pastoral life he be- 
held among his native hills and dales taught him to love 

man also : — 

" Thus was man 

Ennobled outwardly before my sight. 

And thus my heart was early introduced 

To an unconscious love and reverence 

Of human nature ; hence the human form 

To me became the index of delight. 

Of grace and honor, power and worthiness." 

Wordsworth returned to England in 1799 and settled at 
Grasmere in the Lake District, in which he spent the rest 
of his life. The following year he published a new edition 
of the '' Lyrical Ballads," containing many new pieces and 
the famous preface in which he laid down his poetical 
canons. These canons may be briefly stated as follows : 
I. Subjects are to be taken from rustic or common life, 
"because in that condition the essential passions of the 
heart find a better soil in which they can attain their 
maturity, are less under restraint, and speak plainer and 
more emphatic language." 2. The language of common 
life, purified from its defects, is to be adopted, because men 
of that station "hourly communicate with the best objects 
from which the best part of language is originally derived; 
and because, . . . being less under the action of social 
vanity, they convey their feelings and notions in simple 




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WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 417 

and unelaborated expressions." 3. "There neither is nor 
can be any essential difference between the language of 
prose and metrical composition." 

The most, perhaps, that can be said in favor of these 
principles is that, without being absolutely true, they con- 
tain elements of truth. Like Burns, Wordsworth has con- 
ferred a blessing on humanity in pointing out the beauty 
of commonplace objects and incidents. We cannot spare 
"We Are Seven," or "Michael," which ought to be one 
of our most popular poems. His naturalness of diction is 
to be commended. Yet it must be said that Wordsworth 
sometimes carries his principles to a ridiculous extent. 
When he hits upon phrases like "dear brother Jim," and 
objects like "skimmed milk" and — 

' " A household tub, like one of those 

Which women use to wash their clothes," 

his greatest admirers are forced to grieve. 

Wordsworth's Ufe in the Lake District was character- 
ized by great simplicity. There were no stirring events, 
no great changes. His resources were increased by the 
payment of an old debt due his father's estate. His mar- 
riage, in 1802, to Miss Mary Hutchinson, brought into his 
home a real helpmate. Though decidedly domestic in her 
turn, she was not without poetic feeling and appreciated 
her husband's genius. The poet paid her this glowing 
tribute : — 

" A being breathing thoughtful breath, 
A traveller between life and death ; 
The reason firm, the temperate will, 
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill ; 

2E 



41 8 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

A perfect woman nobly planned, 
To warn, to comfort, and command ; 
And yet a spirit still, and bright 
With something of angelic light.'" 

With true feminine tact she presided over the poet's 
home, and softened as far as possible the unconscious ego- 
tism into which his retirement and contemplation had be- 
trayed him. Dorothy Wordsworth shared their home. 
The life of this happy family was an illustration of " plain 
living and high thinking." Much time was spent in the 
open air, and every foot of ground in the neighborhood 
was traversed by the poet and his sister. A large part 
of his verse was composed during these daily rambles. 
While extending a cordial welcome to congenial friends, — 
De Quincey, Coleridge, Wilson, Southey, and others, — he 
cared little for neighborhood gossip. To him it was a fruit- 
less waste of time. As he tells us in the sonnets entitled 
" Personal Talk " : — 

" Better than such discourse doth silence long, 
Long, barren silence, square with my desire ; 
To sit without emotion, hope, or aim. 
In the loved presence of my cottage fire. 
And listen to the flapping of the flame. 
Or kettle whispering its faint undersong." 

This quiet, humble, reflective Uf e is beautiful ; yet it has 
its objectionable features. It leads to narrow and one- 
sided views of life. It is not the way in which to develop 
a strong or heroic character. Yet it was adapted to 
Wordsworth's genius and produced a rich fruitage. 

The first great sorrow that came into the poet's life was 
the death of his brother John, captain of an East Indiaman. 




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WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 419 

His vessel was wrecked in 1805 and sank with the cap- 
tain at his post of duty. He had several years previously 
spent a few months at Grasmere, and was looking for- 
ward to the time when he might settle there for life. 

A strong attachment existed between him and his 
brother. It was but natural, therefore, that the poet should 
write : " For myself, I feel that there is something cut 
out of my life which cannot be restored. I never thought 
of him but with hope and delight. We looked forward to 
the time, not distant, as we thought, when he would settle 
near us — when the task of his life would be over, and he 
would have nothing to do but reap his reward. ... I 
never wrote a line without the thought of giving him 
pleasure ; my writings, printed and manuscript, were his 
delight, and one of the chief solaces of his long voyages." 
The same year saw the death of Nelson at Trafalgar. 
The death of the hero brought grief to the national heart. 
Combining the traits of his brother John and Admiral 
Nelson, Wordsworth composed *' The Happy Warrior," a 
poem of great dignity and weight — a veritable manual of 
greatness. Who is the happy warrior } He who owes, — 

" To virtue every triumph that he knows ; 
Who, if he rise to station of command, 
Rises by open means ; and there will stand 
On honorable terms, or else retire, 
And in himself possess his own desire ; 
Who comprehends his trust, and to the same 
Keeps faithful with a singleness of aim ; 
And therefore does not stoop nor lie in wait 
For wealth, or honors, or for worldly state ; 
Whom they must follow, on whose head must fall, 
Like showers of manna, if they come at all." 



420 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

Every year increased the number of notable poems. 

There are two or three that deserve especial mention as 

embodying peculiar views — to some extent Wordsworth's 

philosophy of life. In a little poem called '' The Rainbow," 

he says : — 

" My heart leaps up when I behold 

A rainbow in the sky : 
So was it when my life began ; 
So is it now I am a man ; 
So be it when I shall grow old, 

Or let me die ! 
The child is father of the man ; 
And I could wish my days to be 
Bound each to each by natural piety." 

Far more is here expressed than appears at first reading. 
" Wordsworth holds," to adopt the excellent interpretation 
by Myers, ''that the instincts and pleasures of a healthy 
childhood sufficiently indicate the lines on which our 
maturer character should be formed. The joy which be- 
gan in the mere sense of existence should be maintained 
by hopeful faith; the simplicity which began in inex- 
perience should be recovered by meditation ; the love 
which originated in the family circle should expand itself 
over the race of men." In the " Ode to Duty," one of 
Wordsworth's noblest productions, we meet with this 
'' genial sense of youth " : — 

" Serene .will be our days and bright, 
And happy will our nature be, 
When love is an unerring light, 
And joy its own security.'" 

In the "Ode on Immortality," in which we have per- 
haps the highest attainment of poetry in this century, he 



1 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 42 1 

makes use of the Platonic doctrine of the preexistence of 
the soul to account for the glory that hovers over the visible 
world in childhood. As a child looks upon the various ob- 
jects of earth and sky, he unconsciously invests them, the 
poet says-, with the splendor of the spiritual world from 
which he has come. But as life advances, these recollec- 
tions of a previous existence become fainter and fainter, 
and at last the world degenerates into a commonplace 
reality. Now read these splendid lines : — 

" Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting : 
The soul that rises with us, our life's star, 

Hath had elsewhere its setting, 
And Cometh from afar : 

Not in entire forgetfulness, 

And not in utter nakedness, 
But trailing clouds of glory do we come 

From God, who is our home : 
Heaven lies about us in our infancy ! 
Shades of the prison house begin to close 

Upon the growing boy, 
But he beholds the light and whence it flows. 

He sees it in his joy ; 
The youth, who daily further from the east 

Must travel, still is nature's priest, 

And by the vision splendid 

Is on his way attended ; 
At length the man perceives it die away. 
And fade into the light of common day." 

In 18 1 3 Wordsworth removed to Rydal Mount, where 
he spent the rest of his life. With increasing family — 
three sons and two daughters had been born unto him — 
came increasing wants and expenditures. His good for- 



422 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

tune did not desert him. He was appointed distributer of 
stamps for the county of Westmoreland — an office that 
brought him little labor, but five hundred pounds a year. 

The following year he published " The Excursion," a 
tedious and prosaic poem relieved here and there with 
passages of surpassing beauty. It was coldly received, 
and proved a financial loss. Jeffrey began a famous review 
with the contemptuous sentence, ''This will never do." 
Up to this time Wordsworth had been the subject of con- 
tinuously unfavorable criticism. No other writer, per- 
haps, ever had so protracted a struggle to gain a proper 
recognition. 

But through all this long period of misrepresentation 
and detraction, Wordsworth did not lose confidence in him- 
self. His genius was its own sufficient witness. He felt a 
pity for the ignorance of the world, but looked forward to 
a time when the merits of his poetry would be recognized. 
Writing to a friend, he says : *' Let me confine myself to 
my object, which is to make you, my dear friend, as easy 
hearted as myself with respect to these poems. Trouble 
not yourself upon their present reception. Of what mo- 
ment is that compared with what I trust is their destiny } — 
to console the afflicted; to add sunshine to daylight, by 
making the happy happier ; to teach the young and the 
gracious of every age to see, to think and feel, and there- 
fore to become more actively and securely virtuous ; this is 
their office, which I trust they will faithfully perform long 
after we (that is, all that is mortal of us) are mouldered in 
our graves." What in many a man would savor of egotism 
comes from the lips of Wordsworth with the calm dignity 
of conscious strength. 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 423 

His hopes were not disappointed. The latter years of 
his life brought him great popularity and honor. In 1839 
the University of Oxford conferred upon him the degree of 
Doctor of Civil Law ; three years later the government 
granted him a pension of three hundred pounds ; and upon 
the death of Southey he became poet laureate. His pure 
and peaceful life came to an end April 23, 1850. "And 
surely of him, if of any one, we may think as of a man who 
was so in accord with nature, so at one with the very soul 
of things, that there can be no mansion of the universe 
which shall not be to him a home, no Governor who will 
not accept him among his servants, and satisfy him with 
love and peace." 

Wordsworth's mind was evenly balanced; thought, im- 
agination, and conscience all worked together in harmony. 
This fact gave sanity not only to his life, but also to his 
poetry. His was not, as some persons have supposed, a 
mild, gentle nature without energy. He had a strong will 
and deep feelings ; but through stern self -discipline, he 
had brought them under rational control. The power of 
his intellectual and emotional nature is shown in number- 
less passages, in which he reaches the sublimest heights 
of poetry — regions far beyond the attainment of any but 
mighty spirits. There is much that is commonplace in his 
poetry — great tracts of dulness ; but in his moments of 
fully aroused imaginative energy, he is unsurpassed, per- 
haps, by any other English poet except Shakespeare. 

Like other lovers of nature, Wordsworth had a keen 
eye and ear for its beauties. His observations are minute 
and accurate. Forms, colors, sounds, are all vividly caught 
and reproduced in his poetry. To take but a single illus- 



424 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

tration, we read in *' A Night-Piece," dating from 1798, the 
following : — 

'' The traveller looks up — the clouds are split 
Asunder, — and above his head he sees 
The clear moon, and the glory of the heavens. 
There, in a black-bkie vault she sails along. 
Followed by multitudes of stars, that, small 
And sharp, and bright, along the dark abyss 
Drive as she drives ; how fast they wheel away, 
Yet vanish not ! — the wind is in the tree. 
But they are silent ; — still they roll along 
Immeasurably distant ; and the vault 
Built round by those white clouds, enormous clouds." 

But Wordsworth was more than a mere observer. He 
was not satisfied to report the outward appearance of 
things, as were Scott and, in a large measure, Byron. He 
looked upon nature as interpenetrated by a divine, con- 
scious spirit that could speak to his soul. Beneath the 
outward beauties of the world he tried to catch its spirit- 
ual message. To him nature was a great teacher, sur- 
passing the storehouses of human wisdom : — 

" Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife ; 
Come, hear the woodland linnet. 
How sweet his music ! on my life, 
There's more of wisdom in it. 

" And hark ! how blithe the throstle sings ! 
He, too, is no mean preacher : 
Come forth into the light of things. 
Let Nature be your teacher. 

" One impulse from a vernal wood 
May teach you more of man, 
Of moral evil and of good, 
Than all the sages can." 




Aged 42. Engraved by Samuel Cousins, A. R. A. .after the painting by Washington Allston, from 
the original picture in possession of George L. Barnard, Esq., London. Published 1854. 



J^ y. Cr^ L.'i^^^'f^ 



SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. 425 



SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. 

The influence of Coleridge was surprising. Though his 
works are singularly fragmentary, he stands out as a prom- 
inent figure among his great contemporaries. His in- 
fluence seems due chiefly to his originality, his magnetic 
personal presence, and the stimulating quality of his intel- 
lectual activity. He invented new forms of poetry, to 
which Scott acknowledged himself indebted ; and he in- 
troduced German metaphysics, which was not without 
effect on Wordsworth and many subsequent writers. His 
strong, restless intellect, while deficient in executive power, 
was constantly blazing new paths for others. He pos- 
sessed, in extraordinary degree, the mental endowment 
which we denominate genius. 

Samuel Taylor Coleridge was born in Devonshire, 
Oct. 21, 1772, the youngest of a family of ten children. 
His mother, though a woman of strong sense, was not 
without her prejudices. She bade her sons beware of what 
she called '' harpsichord ladies." His father was vicar of 
Ottery St. Mary and head-master of the free grammar 
school there. He was a scholar of some attainments and 
prepared a Latin grammar, in which he proposed to clear 
up the obscurities of the accusative by calling it the 
" quale-quare-quidditive case." He was accustomed to 
edify his congregation by quotations from the Hebrew, 
which he commended to their attention as '' the immediate 



426 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

language of the Holy Ghost." " The image of my father," 
Coleridge wrote years afterward, " my revered, kind, 
simple-hearted father, is a religion to me." 

Coleridge was educated at home until he was eight years 
old. His imaginative and meditative temper led observers 
to regard him as a remarkable child and to predict for 
him no ordinary career. At the age of ten he was entered 
at Christ's Hospital, where poetry, metaphysics, and theol- 
ogy engrossed his attention. '* At a very premature age, 
even before my fifteenth year," he tells us in the " Bio- 
graphia Literaria," *' I had bewildered myself in metaphysics 
and in theological controversy. Nothing else pleased me. 
History and particularly facts lost all interest in my mind. 
Poetry (though for a schoolboy of that age I was above 
par in English versification, and had already produced two 
or three compositions which I may venture to say were 
somewhat above mediocrity, and which had gained me 
more credit than the sound good sense of my old master 
was at all pleased with) — poetry itself, yea, novels and 
romances, became insipid to me." 

It is to this period that Lamb's well-known description 
in the '* Essays of Elia " belongs. " Come back into mem- 
ory," he exclaims, " like as thou wast in the daysprihg of 
thy fancies, with hope like a fiery column before thee — 
the dark pillar not yet turned — Samuel Taylor Coleridge, 
logician, metaphysician, bard ! How have I seen the cas- 
ual passer through the cloisters stand stijl, entranced with 
admiration (while he weighed the disproportion between 
the speech and the garb of the young Mirandula), to hear 
thee unfold, in thy deep and sweet intonations, the mys- 
teries of lamblichus or Plotinus (for even in those years 



SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERLDGE. 427 

thou waxedst not pale at such philosophic draughts), or 
reciting Homer in his Greek, or Pindar, while the walls of 
the old Gray Friars reechoed to the accents of the inspired 
chanty-boy ! " 

Under the master, the Rev. James Bowyer, a man of 
severe taste, he received a careful training in composition 
and literary criticism. No mercy was shown to any phrase 
or metaphor that would not stand the test of sound sense. 
Harp, lyre, muse, "Pegasus, Parnassus, — words so dear to 
many a schoolboy, — were severely dealt with. ''In 
fancy," says Coleridge as he writes his literary memoirs, 
'' I can almost hear him now, exclaiming ' Harp .? Harp .? 
Lyre.? Pen and ink, boy, you mean! Muse, boy. Muse.? 
Your nurse's daughter, you mean ! Pierian spring ? Oh, 
aye ! the cloister-pump, I suppose ! ' " The young student 
was taught to prefer Demosthenes to Cicero, Homer to 
Virgil, and Virgil to Ovid. His attention was called to the 
exquisite skill with which the great poets select and arrange 
their words. 

In 1792 he entered Jesus College, Cambridge. The 
records of his college life are meagre. Within a few 
months of his entrance he won a gold medal for a Greek 
ode on the slave-trade — a poem of which he himself 
afterward said that -the ideas were better than the 
language or metre in which they were conveyed." His 
reading was extensive and miscellaneous. He took a keen 
interest in the political movements of the day, and with 
his leisurely habits and splendid conversational gifts 
naturally drew a crowd of admirers around him. Accord- 
ing to the account of a fellow-student, " He was ready at 
any time to unbend his mind in conversation, and for the 



428 ENbLISH LITERATURE. 

sake of this his room was a constant rendezvous of con- 
versation-loving friends." 

In the latter part of 1793 Coleridge suddenly left 
Cambridge and going to London enlisted in the Light 
Dragoons. The cause of this singular escapade, whether 
disappointment in love or despondency over debts, has not 
been made plain. He was utterly unsuited to military 
service. Apart from constitutional awkwardness, he sadly 
lacked physical energy — a lack that manifested itself par- 
ticularly in a strong repugnance to caring for his horse. 
Finally, a striking Latin sentence which he wrote on the 
stable wall attracted attention to his scholarly attainments, 
and after four months of service influential friends ob- 
tained his discharge. He returned to the university, but 
left it in a few months without taking his degree. 

In 1794 Coleridge visited Oxford, where he met Southey. 
This was the beginning of a lifelong friendship. The 
young men were drawn together by their poetic gifts and 
political sympathies. Coleridge communicated his newly 
formed scheme to found a socialistic community on the 
banks of the Susquehanna — a scheme to which he had 
given the novel and descriptive name of Pantisocracy. All 
property was to be held in common ; each member was to 
work for the good of the entire community ; and all were 
to have an equal share in administering the government. 
Southey greeted the Utopian scheme with enthusiasm. 
Disappointed by the cruel excesses of the French Revolu- 
tion, from which both young men had expected a new and 
better social order, they wished to show their faith in a 
pure democracy, and with this pantisocratic community to 
mark the beginning of a happier age. But there was one 



1 



4 



SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERLDGE. 



429 



difficulty in the way of these hopeful young men. That 
was money. And when after a year's effort the requisite 
means were not forthcoming, the splendid scheme was 
reluctantly abandoned. 

But it had not been without at least one important result 
for Coleridge. One of the requirements of the pantisocratic 
scheme was that each member should take unto himself a 
gentle, loving woman as his wife. To this requirement 
Coleridge had responded with more than his usual prompt- 
ness. In 1795 he married Miss Sarah Fricker, sister to 
Southey's betrothed, and at last added another to the 
unfortunate list of unhappy marriages in the history of 
English men of letters. After a few years his transcen- 
dental moods refused to submit to the yoke of common- 
place domestic duties. His wife was perhaps lacking in 
appreciation and sympathy; but his dreamy, shiftless 
ways, which often left the family without bread, imposed 
no ordinary strain on her patience. Unable to provide 
for his family, Coleridge finally left them dependent on 
Southey, while he himself led an unsettled, precarious life 
among various friends. 

In 1796 Coleridge may be said to have begun his 
editorial ' career with the pubHcation of The Watchman, 
a periodical appearing every eight days and devoted to 
"truth and freedom." The editor himself made a tour of 
northern England for subscribers, and in the " Biographia 
Literaria " has left us a humorous and delightful account 
of his experiences. At Birmingham he was introduced to 
a tallow-chandler, upon whom he exhausted all the mar- 
vellous resources of his brain and tongue. *'I argued," he 
says, '* I described, I promised, I prophesied ; and begin- 



430 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

ning with the captivity of nations, I ended with the near 
approach of the millennium." But it was all in vain. The 
hard man of the world refused to be persuaded and finally 
brought the interview to an abrupt termination. *' I am 
as great a one," he said, *'as any man in Brummagem, sir, 
for liberty and truth and all them sort of things, but as to 
this, — no offence I hope, sir, — I must beg to be excused." 
Coleridge had no talent for business ; and as a writer, in 
the interests of ** liberty and truth," he showed a sublime 
disregard for the opinions and prejudices of his patrons. 
As a natural result. The Watchmaji, after a career more 
valiant than wise, suspended publication at the end of two 
months. More than a dozen years later he established 
another weekly called The Friend, which, as might be 
supposed, had likewise only a brief existence. 

In 1797 Coleridge published at Bristol his first volume 
of poetry. A second edition, enlarged and revised, ap- 
peared the following year. Though this volume met with 
an encouraging reception, it was still criticised for its 
general turgidity of style. The poet recognized the jus- 
tice of this criticism and frankly confessed that in the 
second edition he used his '* best efforts to tame the swell 
and glitter both of thought and diction." He wrote from 
the necessity of an inner impulse and expected neither 
profit nor fame. ''Poetry has been to me," he says, "its 
own * exceeding great reward ' ; it has soothed my afflic- 
tion ; it has multiplied and refined my enjoyments; it has 
endeared solitude ; and it has given me the habit of wish- 
ing to discover the good and the beautiful in all that meets 
and surrounds me." 

The poems in this volume, which hardly contains any- 



m 



SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. 43 1 

thing preeminent, reveal to us something of the power 
and spirit of Coleridge. He is master of lofty thought, 
fervid feehng, and splendid expression. Many of the 
poems, juvenile in character, do not rise above the com- 
monplace ; but the best of them move on a lofty plane 
and have a deep, majestic music. Sincere in thought and 
purpose, they give us glimpses into the poet's life and re- 
veal to us his poHtical convictions and religious beliefs. 
In the ''^Eolian Harp " he shows us something of the tran- 
scendental spirit, which is frequently met with in his 
poetry : — 

" And what if all of animated nature 
Be but organic harps diversely framed, 
That tremble into thought as o'er them sweeps, 
Plastic and vast, one intellectual breeze, 
At once the soul of each, and God of all ? " 

After his marriage Coleridge retired to Clevedon on the 
Bristol Channel, where he spent a protracted honeymoon. 
In his " Reflections on Leaving a Place of Retirement " 
he has given us a description of the pretty cottage he 
occupied there, in which he passed what were probably 
the happiest months of his Hfe : — 

" Low was our pretty cot ! our tallest rose 
Peeped at the chamber-window. We could hear 
At silent noon, and eve, and early morn, 
The sea's faint murmur. In the open air 
Our myrtles blossomed ; and across the porch 
Thick jasmines twined ; the little landscape round 
Was green and woody, and refreshed the eye." 

" Religious Musings " is a majestic poem on religion 
and politics. '* The Destiny of Nations," besides some 



432 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

eloquent passages, contains a noteworthy definition of 

freedom : — 

" For what is freedom, but the unfettered use 
Of all the powers which God for use had given? " 

In the " Ode to France," which Shelley pronounced the 
finest in the English language, the poet tells, with great 
fervor of emotion, — 

" With what deep worship he has still adored 
The spirit of divinest Liberty." 

In 1 797 Coleridge removed to Nether Stowey in Somer- 
setshire, where he occupied a house placed at his disposal 
by an admiring friend. Here he lived on terms of inti- 
macy with Wordsworth, whom he had met a year or two 
previously. In spite of his self-complacency, Coleridge 
said that he felt himself as " nothing in comparison with 
Wordsworth." And Wordsworth, who was far from flat- 
tering his contemporaries, declared that Coleridge was 
** the only wonderful man he had ever known." Without 
a thought of hterary jealousy, the two poets worked 
together in beautiful fellowship, seeking each other's coun- 
sel and stimulating each other's activity. 

In his poem ''To William Wordsworth " Coleridge pays 

a beautiful tribute to the preeminent gifts of his friend. 

The poem was written on the night after Wordsworth had 

recited some verses on the growth of an individual mind in 

" The Prelude " : — 

'^ O great Bard ! 

Ere yet that last strain dying awed the air, 

With steadfast eye I viewed thee in the choir 

Of ever-enduring men. The truly great 



SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. 433 

Have all one age, and from one visible space 
Shed influence ! They, both in power and act, 
Are permanent, and Time is not with them, 
Save as it worketh for them, they in it." 

The poems of this period exhibit clearly, especially in 
their deeper sympathy with nature, the influence of Words- 
worth. Thus, in ''The Nightingale," written in 1798, Cole- 
ridge says that there is nothing melancholy in nature, and 
that the sorrowing poet, who wronged philomel by calling 
its song sad, — 

" Had better far have stretched his limbs 
Beside a brook in mossy forest-dell. 
By sun or moon-light, to the influxes 
Of shapes and sounds and shifting elements 
Surrendering his whole spirit, of his song 
And of his fame forgetful ! so his fame 
Should share in Nature's immortality, 
A venerable thing ! and so his song 
Should make all Nature lovelier, and itself 
Be loved like Nature." 

For Coleridge the most important poetic result of this 
association with Wordsworth was the composition of *' The 
Rime of the Ancient Mariner." The poem appeared in 
the " Lyrical Ballads" prepared jointly by the two poets in 
1798. This volume was written to illustrate two points, 
namely, ''the power of exciting the sympathy of the reader 
by a faithful adherence to the truth of nature, and the power 
of giving the interest of novelty by the modifying colors of 
the imagination." In carrying out these principles, it was 
agreed that Coleridge should treat of persons and charac- 
ters supernatural, or at least romantic. Wordsworth, on 



2F 



434 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

the other hand, was to give the charm of novelty to com- 
monplace things and direct attention to the loveliness and 
wonders of the world about us. Both did their work mar- 
vellously well and produced an epoch-making book. ** I 
found in these poems," says De Quincey, "the ray of a 
new morning, and an absolute revelation of untrodden 
worlds, teeming with power and beauty, as yet unsuspected 
among men." 

In conformity with the guiding principle he had adopted, 
Coleridge wrote the " Ancient Mariner," in which he lends, 
in a wonderful degree, the force of reality to what is purely 
imaginary. It is wholly unlike anything else he ever 
wrote. It is remarkable for its strong ballad style, for its 
vivid descriptions, and for its rounded completeness of 
form. Of its kind there is, perhaps, nothing better in our 
language. The lesson of the poem, though it was not 
written for its moral, is contained in the parting words of 
the dreadful mariner : — 

" Farewell, farewell ! but this I tell 
To thee, thou wedding-guest ! 
He prayeth well who loveth well 
Both man and bird and beast. 

'•' He prayeth best, who loveth best 
All things both great and small ; 
For the dear God who loveth us, 
He made and loveth all." 

Another piece appearing in the " Lyrical Ballads " is 
" Love," the sweetest of all Coleridge's poems. It is dis- 
tinguished for its soft, fascinating melody — a quality for 
which the author especially prized it. The opening stanza 
is often quoted : — 



SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERLDGE. 435 

" All thoughts, all passions, all delights, 
Whatever stirs this mortal frame, 
All are but ministers of Love, 
And feed his sacred flame." 

'* Christabel," originally intended for the " Lyrical Bal- 
lads," but not published till several years later, was written 
according to the poetic principle that had produced the 
''Ancient Mariner." Unfortunately it was never com- 
pleted. Of the two parts we have, one was written in 
1797 and the other in 1800. The metre is founded on 
a new principle, *' namely, that of counting in each line the 
accents, not the syllables. Though the latter may vary 
from seven to twelve, yet in each line the accents will be 
found to be only four." The characters of Christabel, 
Sir Leoline, and the sorceress Geraldine are a Httle 
shadowy; but when read and reread, the poem is seen 
to possess astonishing power — the noblest torso in Eng- 
lish literature. It contains a remarkable passage, which 
the poet regarded as the best he ever wrote : — 

" Alas ! they had been friends in youth ; 
But whispering tongues can poison truth. 



They parted ne'er to meet again ! 

But never either found another 

To free the hollow heart from paining — 

They stood aloof, the scars remaining, 

Like cliffs which had been rent asunder ; 

A dreary sea now flows between, 

But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder. 

Shall wholly do away, I ween. 

The marks of that which once hath been." 



436 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

In 1798, impelled perhaps by the lack of means, Cole- 
ridge thought of becoming a Unitarian preacher and of 
abandoning literature forever. Hazlitt has given an en- 
thusiastic description of one of his sermons, in which 
" poetry and philosophy, truth and genius, had embraced, 
under the eye and with the sanction of religion." But an 
annuity of one hundred and fifty pounds bestowed upon 
him by the Wedgwood brothers, who admired his genius, 
saved him for literature. In September, in company with 
Wordsworth and his sister Dorothy, Coleridge went to 
Germany, where he devoted himself assiduously first to 
the language and afterward to metaphysics and theology. 

In ''Satyrane's Letters" he has given an account of his 
experiences, and exhibited a larger sense of humor than 
is to be found elsewhere in his writings. It was during 
this sojourn abroad that he wrote the sublime '' Hymn 
before Sunrise," inspired by the awful grandeur of Mont 
Blanc. 

He returned to England at the end of fourteen months ; 
and as the first fruit of his visit to Germany he translated 
Schiller's '* Wallenstein," which was printed in 1800. The 
translation is admirably made, improving, some maintain, 
on the original ; but it was not till some years later, when 
Coleridge's fame was well established, that its excellence 
was fully recognized. This same year he took charge of 
the literary and political department of the Morning' Post. 
His princely gifts were speedily recognized, and the pro- 
prietor offered him a half-interest in the newspaper busi- 
ness, which would have brought him, as he estimated, 
about two thousand pounds a year. '' But I told him," 
says Coleridge in a characteristic passage, " that I would 



7 ^ ^ :■ 




SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERLDGE. 437 

not give up the country and the lazy reading of old folios 
for two thousand times two hundred pounds — in short, 
that beyond three hundred and fifty pounds a year I con- 
sidered money a real evil." 

The year " Wallen stein " was published, Coleridge 
removed to the Lake District in the north of England, 
made famous by the residence also of Wordsworth and 
Southey. To these three poets, who have something in 
common m style, has been given the name of Lake School. 
At this period the mind and character of Coleridge under- 
went a serious and baleful change. About a year after his 
settling at Keswick, his health became seriously impaired ; 
and seeking relief from acute pain, he resorted to the use 
of opiates. He found physical relief for a time, but at 
length discovered that he was held in a terrible bondage. 
His will became more enfeebled and vacillating ; and, 
worst of all, his imagination lost its imperial sweep and 
power. His " Ode to Dejection," written in the spring of 
1802, possesses a deep biographic interest: — 

" But now afflictions bow me down to earth : 
Nor care I that they rob me of my mirth, 

But oh ! each visitation 
Suspends what nature gave me at my birth, 

My shaping spirit of Imagination." 

In 1804 Coleridge sailed for Malta, where for a time he 
acted as secretary to the governor of the island, Sir Alex- 
ander Bell. The drudgery of his office, and the regular 
habits it enforced, at length became intolerable. He went 
to Rome, where he interested himself in the treasures of 
art, and after an absence of two years and a half he 



438 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

returned to England. The opium habit, which had gained 
a deeper hold on him, rendered his life for the next ten 
years almost indescribably wretched. His poetic faculty 
had passed away, and in prose he was unequal to any 
serious task. Southey shed tears over the wreck of his 
genius. Only his colloquial powers still retained some- 
thing of their former splendor. *' He talked very much 
Uke an angel," Lord Egmont said, "and did nothing 
at all." 

During the period under consideration Coleridge deliv- 
ered several courses of lectures in London and Bristol. 
His first series, delivered in 1808, was a course on Poetry 
and the Fine Arts, for which the Royal Institution agreed 
to pay him one hundred guineas. His reputation at first 
attracted large audiences of distinguished people. But he 
had become, to use a word of his own coinage, wholly 
unreliable. In spite of his honorable intentions, no de- 
pendence could be placed in any appointments he made. 
He frequently disappointed his audiences ; and when he 
did appear, he sadly failed to meet expectations. His 
vast powers of extemporaneous discourse had deserted 
him. But a few years later, when he had somewhat 
recovered his natural tone of body and mind, his old-time 
fervor and power returned. " His words seemed to flow," 
it was said, *' as from a person repeating with grace and 
energy some delightful poem." His lectures on Shake- 
speare, the substance of which has been preserved, give 
him a foremost place among Shakespeare's critics. 

In 18 1 3 his play ''Remorse," which had been written 
years before, was accepted, upon Byron's recommenda- 
tion, by Drury Lane Theatre. The scene is laid in Spain 



SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERLDGE. 439 

at the time of the Inquisition under PhiHp II. The piece 
is not without striking passages and had a brilHant suc- 
cess, running for twenty nights. It brought Coleridge 
three times as much as all his other literary productions 
put together — a most welcome boon at a time of pressing 
necessity. A second drama, *' Zapolya," written at the 
suggestion of Byron, was destined never to see the foot- 
lights, but on its publication in 181 7 it became so popular 
that two thousand copies were sold in six weeks. 

With the year 18 16 there came a change for the better. 
Realizing his inability to break the bonds of his terrible 
slavery, Coleridge placed himself under the care of Mr. 
Gillman, a surgeon of Highgate, London. No wiser or 
kinder guardian could have been chosen. For the rest of 
his life Coleridge remained an inmate of this hospitable 
home, and succeeded, in large measure, in breaking away 
from the thraldom of his fatal habit. With returning 
health something of his former power came back. His 
most important prose works belong to this period. 
''The Statesman's Manual" appeared in 1816, and the 
year following he published the " Biographia Literaria, or 
Sketches of my Literary Life and Opinions," one of the 
most interesting of his many works. 

The life of Coleridge has been divided into three periods, 
according to the prevailing character of his intellectual 
activity. The first, extending to the year 1798, has been 
called the poetic period ; the second, extending to the year 
18 1 8, the critical period ; and the third, extending to his 
death in 1834, the theological period. During this last 
period the prevaiUng interest of his life was metaphysics 
and theology. In philosophy he was a transcendentalist. 



440 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

He was a profound student of the German metaphysicians, 
particularly of Kant, Schelling, and Hegel, whose teach- 
ings he was the first to naturalize in England. In large 
measure he adopted the philosophical system of Kant, and 
insisted particularly on the great German's distinction be- 
tween the reaso7t and the iinderstajiding. In 1825 he pub- 
lished his "Aids to Reflection," the purpose of which was 
to show that the " Christian faith is the perfection of 
human intelligence." It is regarded by many as his 
ablest work. 

There was a wonderful magnetism about Coleridge's 
personality. He gathered about him a circle of disciples, 
who revered him as a prophet. His conversation exerted 
a fascinating power, even when by reason of its depth or 
transcendentalism it was not clearly understood. No 
more wonderful talker has appeared since the days of 
Johnson. His '' Table Talk," preserved by his nephew, 
gives an idea of the acuteness and variety of his ob- 
servation, though not of his inspired impressiveness. 
** Throughout a long-drawn summer's day," says Henry 
Nelson Coleridge, " would this man talk to you in low, 
equable, but clear and musical tones, concerning things 
human and divine ; marshalling all history, harmonizing 
all experiment, probing the depths of your consciousness, 
and revealing visions of glory and of terror to the imagi- 
nation ; but pouring withal such floods of light upon the 
mind that you might, for a season, like Paul, become blind 
in the very act of conversion." ^ 

Coleridge calmly passed away July 25, 1834. In spite 
of his many defects of character and life, his aims were 

1 See Carlyle's sketch in the " Life of Sterling." 



SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. 441 

pure and good. " As God hears me," he wrote only a 
few months before his death, " the originating, continuing, 
and sustaining wish and design in my heart were to exalt 
the glory of His name ; and, which is the same thing in 
other words, to promote the improvement of mankind." 
That he did not, with his magnificent gifts, accomplish 
more was due to a will of singular infirmity. He did not 
restrain his thought and imagination, which moved in 
large orbits like Saturn or Jupiter, within the range of his 
power of achievement. And in the composition of his 
works he was constantly drawn aside from the logical 
path of development by every beautiful prospect that 
burst upon him from adjacent fields. His works are rarely 
systematic and complete ; but in spite of their obvious de- 
fects, they are suggestive, original, profound, ranking him 
as one of the greatest thinkers of his age. 



442 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



% 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

No one can doubt that Shelley's fame has been growing 
since his death. The age in which he wrote was little 
tolerant toward his revolutionary principles and ideals. 
But since that time human culture has gained in breadth. 
We have become more catholic in our sympathies and 
more tolerant in our judgments. Instead of an incon- 
siderate condemnation of Shelley, we are disposed to give 
him a hearing and to recognize any excellence he may be 
shown to possess. In our inquiry we shall find much to 
condemn, but also much to admire. 

Shelley's life was a tragically sad one. He started out 
with the high and sanguine hopes of an ardent nature. 
He was thoroughly unselfish in his aims. He hoped to 
see society regenerated and to play an important part in 
its regeneration. But his ardent efforts were coldly re- 
ceived. He was misunderstood ; he was harshly assailed ; 
he finally suffered from a sense of loneliness. Even the 
beauties of nature failed at length to awaken the bound- 
ing joy of his earlier years. In **The Lament," the best 
of his short lyrics, he has given beautiful expression to his 
growing sadness : — 

" O world, O life, O time ! 
On whose last steps I climb, 

Trembling at that where I had stood before ; 
When will return the glory of your prime? 

No more — oh, never more. 



^1 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 443 

" Out of the day and night 
A joy has taken flight ; 

Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar, 
Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight 

No more — oh, never more.'" 

Percy Bysshe Shelley was born in Sussex, Aug. 4, 
1792, in a family of wealth and titles. His mother was 
a woman of great beauty, but without literary tastes. His 
father was a choleric, obstinate man, whose notions of 
morality had been imbibed in the school of Chesterfield. 
In Parliament his statesmanship was confined to a rigid 
adherence to party measures. As a hard-headed, practical 
man, he utterly failed to appreciate the genius of his son. 

Shelley exhibited in childhood the leading traits that 
characterized him in manhood. His literary bent mani- 
fested itself in the composition of a play before he was 
ten years old. At Zion House Academy, the first public 
school to which he was sent, he learned the classic lan- 
guages almost by intuition. He was fond of reading, but 
was indifferent to physical sports ; and while his school- 
fellows were at their games, he frequently remained alone, 
absorbed in day-dreams. His sensitive, independent nature 
could not brook — 

" The harsh and grating strife of tyrants and of foes ; " 

and it was here, as we learn from the prologue to "■ The 
Revolt of Islam," that he first consciously espoused the 
principles of freedom. 

At the age of thirteen Shelley entered Eton, where, as 
we might expect, he did not fall in readily with the dis- 
cipline and customs of the school. His spirit of inde- 
pendence asserted itself strongly, and he organized a 



444 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

formal rebellion against the fagging system. He was 
known as '* Mad Shelley." Though he became very pro- 
ficient in Latin and Greek, a large part of his time was de- 
voted to other than the prescribed studies. He acquired 
knowledge with astonishing facility, for he had a retentive 
memory, and mastered books with extraordinary rapidity. 
He wrote a novel, " Zastrozzi," which, in spite of its small 
merit, found a publisher, and brought him forty pounds. 
He had a special fondness for natural science, of which he 
predicted great things ; and though it was forbidden, he 
spent a good deal of time in chemical and electrical ex- 
periments. His yearning for knowledge, in connection 
with his imaginative temperament, led him, like another 
Faust, to seek communion with the world of spirits. Of 
this experience we have an interesting reminiscence in the 
splendid " Hymn to Intellectual Beauty " : — 

"While yet a boy I sought for ghosts, and sped 
Thro' many a listening chamber, cave, and ruin, 
And starlight woods, with fearful steps pursuing 
Hopes of high talk with the departed dead ; 
I called on poisonous names with which our youth is fed. 
I was not heard, I saw them not." 

In due course of time Shelley entered University 
College, Oxford, in 1810. His brief university career 
may be anticipated in its essential features. He cared 
little for the prescribed studies and showed a marked 
distaste for mathematics. He had a strong predilection 
for metaphysical studies, and Plato, at this time, became 
a favorite author. The perusal of Hume and the French 
materialists now confirmed him in his sceptical beliefs. 
His enthusiasm for natural science continued without 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 445 

abatement, and his room, it is said, was a perfect chaos of 
chemical apparatus, electrical machines, furniture burned 
by acids, scattered volumes, and unfinished manuscripts. 

He was tall and handsome — too beautiful to paint, it 
was said. His life was singularly pure ; and a coarse or 
indecent jest aroused his indignation. His manners, gov- 
erned by an innate delicacy of feeling, were charming for 
their unvaried grace and refinement. Two fixed principles 
of his character, according to the testimony of his friend 
and biographer Hogg, were '' a strong irrepressible love of 
liberty ; of liberty in the abstract, and somewhat after 
the pattern of the ancient republics, without reference 
to the English constitution, respecting which he knew 
little and cared nothing, heeding it not at all. The second 
was an equally ardent love of toleration of all opinions, 
but more especially of religious opinions ; of toleration, 
complete, universal, unlimited ; and, as a deduction and 
corollary from which latter principle, he felt an intense 
abhorrence of persecution of every kind, public or private." 

Though paying but little attention to poetry, he yet 
relieved his severer studies with occasional verses. At 
length, in connection with Hogg, he turned a collection 
of them into burlesque effusions, breathing tyrannicide 
and revolution. These were published as the *' Posthu- 
mous Fragments of Margaret Nicholson," an insane old 
woman who had attempted the life of George HI. with 
a carving knife. The printer entered into the joke, 
and the book was issued in fine style. It was received 
as a genuine production, was soon in everybody's hands, 
and became the talk of the town — to the great delight, 
no doubt, of the youthful jokers. 



446 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

But Shelley's next publication was not so pleasant in 
its results. He made a brief abstract of Hume's essays 
and published it as a two-page pamphlet entitled " The 
Necessity of Atheism." This he sent to various promi- 
nent people, saying that he had come across it casually, 
and that he desired their assistance in answering it. 
Those who were caught in the trap by answering, he 
fell upon with merciless severity. But this trick was 
suddenly cut short. One day (March 25, 181 1) he was 
summoned before the master of the university ; and 
upon his refusing to answer any questions in regard to 
the obnoxious pamphlet, he was unceremoniously ex- 
pelled. 

This unexpected action was a stunning blow and carried 
with it more serious consequences than the surrender of 
his agreeable life at the university. He was tenderly 
devoted to his cousin, Harriet Grove, who now discarded 
him on account of his atheistical views. His father, after 
some futile efforts at concihation, forbade his return home, 
and cut off his allowance of money. Thus he was thrown 
upon his own resources at a time when he was poorly 
fitted to make his way in the world. 

He went to London ; and in his distress and need his 
sisters, who were at school there, came to his assistance. 
They generously turned over to him their pocket money 
and other small gifts, with which for a time he eked out a 
subsistence. The acquaintance he now formed with a 
school friend of his sisters was attended with momentous 
results. Harriet Westbrook was a pretty, bright girl of 
sixteen, with a pleasant voice and cheerful temper. He 
began to initiate her into his sceptical and free-love prin- 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. AfA.'J 

ciples, by which, as he said, she was to be added '' to the 
list of the good, the disinterested, and the free." She 
proved an apt scholar and repaid her teacher, as was to 
be expected, with a feeling deeper than gratitude. She 
not unnaturally grew tired of school ; and when her father, 
a wealthy coffee-house keeper, insisted on her return, she 
persistently refused and threw herself on the protection 
of Shelley. He could not resist this appeal, especially as 
he had advised resistance ; and having now received an 
allowance of two hundred pounds from his father, he 
eloped with her to Edinburgh, where out of deference to 
the "anarch custom" they were married in August, 1811. 

The next several years of Shelley's life were remarkably 
migratory. For a short time he lived at York ; then at 
Keswick in the Lake District, where he met Southey and 
Wordsworth; next in Dublin, where he went as a self- 
appointed champion of Catholic emancipation ; after- 
ward in Wales, and then back in London. During this 
period his domestic life, in spite of frequent removals, 
was happy. His wife was fond of reading aloud to 
him ; she pursued her studies under his direction, and 
in every way she proved an affectionate and helpful 
companion. 

During this time of restless wandering Shelley dili- 
gently kept up his studies. Everywhere he went, he sur- 
rounded himself with books. He dipped into Kant and 
Spinoza, and studied Italian in order to read Dante, Tasso, 
and Petrarch. He completed his first extended poem, 
"Queen Mab," in 181 3, and printed two hundred and 
fifty copies for private distribution. It is an intemperate 
attack on the existing form of society, government, and 



448 ENGLISH LITERATURE, 

religion. It sets forth the poet's peculiar social and polit- 
ical principles ; but his fervid enthusiasm at times carries 
him into amusing or pitiable extravagance. Though gen- 
erally esteemed but lightly, it exhibits his great lyrical 
power and contains passages of rare beauty. Here is 
the opening stanza : — 

" How wonderful is Death, 

Death and his brother Sleep ! 
One, pale as yonder waning moon, 

With lips of lurid blue ; 

The other, rosy as the morn 
When, throned on ocean's wave, 

It blushes o'er the world : 
Yet both so passing wonderful ! " 

Contrary to his professions, Shelley was not in the strict 
sense an atheist. He recognized the immanence of a world- 
forming and world-governing Spirit. To this belief he 
gives beautiful expression in " Queen Mab " : — 

" Spirit of Nature ! thou 
Life of interminable multitude ; 
Soul of those mighty spheres 
Whose changeless paths through Heaven's deep silence lie ; 
Soul of that smallest being, 

The dwelling of whose life 
Is one faint April sun-gleam ; — 
Man, like these passive things. 
Thy will unconsciously fulfilleth : 

Like theirs, his age of endless peace, 
Which time is fast maturing, 
Will swiftly, surely, come ; 
And the unbounded frame which thou pervadest 
Will be without a flaw 
Marring its perfect symmetry." 



i 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. A,Af) 

Shelley was an irrepressible optimist. All the sorrows 
and disappointments that came to him never extinguished 
his confidence in humanity and in the ultimate reign of 
righteousness and truth. He confidently predicted a 
veritable golden age : — 

^' But hoary-headed selfishness has felt 
Its death-blow, and is tottering to the grave : 
A brighter morn awaits the human day, 
When every transfer of earth's natural gifts 
Shall be a commerce of good words and works ; 
When poverty and wealth, the thirst of fame, 
The fear of infamy, disease, and woe. 
War with its million horrors, and fierce hell, 
Shall live but in the memory of time, 
Who like a penitent libertine shall start, 
Look back, and shudder at his younger years." 

As we have seen, Shelley returned to London in 1813. 
For reasons that are not perfectly clear, the course of his 
domestic life began to be perturbed. Its prosaic duties 
were apt to j^all on his undisciplined and imaginative tem- 
per. A frequent visitor in the family of William Godwin, 
whose political and social principles he shared, he became 
infatuated with his daughter, Mary WoUstonecraft God- 
win, a young ^oman of charming person and brilliant intel- 
lect. In common with her father and Shelley, she held to 
the doctrine of "elective af^nities," and looked upon the 
marriage tie as conventional tyranny. The result can 
easily be foreseen. Shelley deserted his wife and two 
children, and eloped with Miss Godwin to Switzerland in 
1 8 14. While held simply as a theory, his doctrine of free 
love remained comparatively harmless ; but once put into 
practice, its cruel and hideous character became apparent. 

2G 



450 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

After an absence of six weeks, Shelley returned to Eng- 
land. By an arrangement with his father, toward whom 
he cherished a morbid dislike, he received an allowance of 
a thousand pounds. He took up his residence on the 
borders of Windsor Forest, where he composed what may 
be regarded as his first great poem. This is ** Alastor," 
which describes a pure and gifted youth, who, at first satis- 
fied with the beauty and grandeur of nature, goes in search 
of an ideal womanhood. As ideal perfection does not exist 
in mortal form, his search proved in vain, and at length 
the imaginative wanderer, worn out by disappointment, 
descends to an untimely grave. It is written in majestic 
blank verse and first revealed the fulness of the poet's 
power. In the opinion of Lady Shelley, none of his 
poems is more characteristic than this. *' The solemn 
spirit that reigns throughout, the worship of the majesty 
of nature, the broodings of a poet's heart in solitude, the 
mingling of the exalted joy w^hich the various aspects of 
the visible universe inspire, with the sad and struggling 
pangs which human passion imparts, give a touching inter- 
est to the whole." Here is the vision of beauty that came 
to him in a lonely dell of Cachmire : — 

" He dreamed a veiled maid 
Sat near him, talking in low, solemn tones. 
Her voice was like the voice of his own soul 
Heard in the calm of thought ; its music long, 
Like woven sounds of streams and breezes, held 
His inmost sense suspended in its web 
Of many-colored woof and shifting hues. 
Knowledge and truth and virtue were her theme, 
And lofty hopes of divine Hberty, 
Thoughts the most dear to him, and poesy, 



1 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 45 I 

Herself a poet. Soon the solemn mood 

Of her pure mind kindled through all her frame 

A permeating fire ; wild numbers then 

She raised, with voice stifled in tremulous sobs 

Subdued by its own pathos ; her fair hands 

Were bare alone, sweeping from some strange harp 

Strange symphony, and in their branching veins 

The eloquent blood told an ineffable tale." 

In i8i6, the year '' Alastor " was published, he made 
another visit to Switzerland. Here he first met Byron, 
and in company with him made a tour of Lake Geneva in 
a boat. When, after a few months, he returned to Eng- 
land, an event occurred that seems to have cast a shadow 
over his subsequent life. His wife Harriet, after form- 
ing an illicit and unhappy relation, committed suicide by 
drowning. By public sentiment, as well as by his own 
conscience, he was held in a measure responsible for her 
death ; and it is asserted by one of his biographers that he 
continued to be pursued, like another Orestes, with haunt- 
ing memories. He was legally deprived of the custody of 
his children on the double ground of his atheistical opin- 
ions and his previous desertion. 

Shortly after the suicide of his deserted wife, Shelley 
and Miss Godwin, presumably under the stress of outside 
pressure, were married in December, 1816. They were 
living at Marlow, a few miles from London on the Thames. 
It was here, in 181 7, as he floated in his boat on the river, 
or wandered over the surrounding country, that he com- 
posed his longest poem, ''The Revolt of Islam." It is 
written in the Spenserian stanza, and the luxuriance of its 
imagery greatly obscures the narrative. As in " Alastor," 
the hero Laon is an idealized portrait of the poet himself. 



452 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

All his peculiar principles — his hatred of tyranny, enthu- 
siasm for freedom, ardor for social regeneration, the rights 
of woman, and love according to the law of " elective affin- 
ity " — here find expression. The story relates the awak- 
ening of a nation to freedom under the eloquence of a 
hero-poet, the temporary success of the cause of human 
liberty, and the final triumph of despotic power. The 
hero as well as the heroine, sustained by a quenchless 
faith in the righteousness and ultimate triumph of their 
cause, suffer a martyr's death. 

His life at Marlow was one of simple and busy routine. 
He rose early, read before breakfast, studied the greater 
part of the forenoon, dined on vegetables (for he had 
become a vegetarian), conversed with friends, to whom 
his house was always open, strolled over the country, read 
to his wife in the evening, and retired at ten o'clock. His 
favorite books at this time were Plato, Homer, the Greek 
tragedians, and the Bible, in which, particularly in Job, he 
took great delight. While assaiHng dogma and ecclesias- 
ticism, he revered Christ, and in unusual degree exempli- 
fied the law of love in relation to his fellow-men. He 
was generous with his money and systematically aided the 
numerous poor about him. '' Without a murmur, without 
ostentation," says a judicious biographer, *' this heir of the 
richest baronet in Sussex illustrated by his own conduct 
those principles of democratic simplicity and of fraternal 
charity which formed his political and social creed." 

In 1818 Shelley went to Italy, where the remaining 
four years of his life were spent. Apart from his roving 
disposition, the principal consideration in this move was 
his health, which was seriously threatened by a pulmo- 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 453 

nary trouble. He resided successively at many places, 
including Milan, Pisa, .Venice, Rome, and Naples. His 
letters of this period are excellent specimens of descrip- 
tive prose. He was not disappointed with Italy ; " the 
aspect of its nature, the sunny sky, its majestic storms, 
the luxuriant vegetation of the country, and the noble 
marble-built cities, enchanted him." He lived on terms 
of intimacy with Byron, though he admired the writings 
more than the character of his brother bard. In August 
he visited him at Venice and embodied his experience 
in the admirable poem of ''Julian and Maddalo." Be- 
sides its excellent poetry, it is notable for its portrayal of 
the two poets. This poem furnishes one of the remarka- 
bly few passages in Shelley's works suitable for popular 

quotation : — 

" Most wretched men 

Are cradled into poetry by wrong ; 

They learn in suffering what they teach in song." 

The year 18 19 marks the climax of Shelley's creative 
power. What he might have accomplished if his life had 
been prolonged, must remain a matter of speculation ; but 
in this year, in addition to numerous other productions 
(among them^ " Peter Bell the Third," the "Masque of 
Anarchy," and the fine ''Ode to the West Wind"), 
he wrote "Prometheus Unbound" and "The Cenci." 
These two tragedies may be considered the masterpieces 
of Shelley's genius. The title of the first is an antithesis 
to the " Prometheus Bound " of ^schylus. Prometheus 
stands for the upward striving spirit of our race ; Jove for 
all that thwarts or hinders it. The Titan, with infinite 
patience and fortitude, defies the wrath and tortures of 



454 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

the Olympian ; and his ultimate deUverance typifies the 
triumph of humanity over the various forms of existing 
evil. Then, — 

" Love, from its awful throne of patient power, 
In the wise heart, from the last giddy hour 

Of dread endurance, from the slippery, steep, 
And narrow verge of crag-like agony, springs 
And folds over the world its healing wings. " 

The poem lifts us above the common experiences of life 
into a region of the poet's own creation. The dramatis 
personce are superhuman beings. Though Shelley de- 
lighted in metaphysical speculation, the poem is almost 
wholly imaginative and descriptive. There is an almost 
utter absence of philosophic reflection ; but the handling 
of form and color is unapproachably opulent and master- 
ful. The wealth of the English language in musical 
rhythm and descriptive power was never exhibited to 
better advantage. The choral songs are delightful ex- 
amples of liquid melody. Take the hymn of Asia in 
illustration : — 

" Life of Life, thy lips enkindle 

With their love the breath between them ; 
And thy smiles before they dwindle 

Make the cold air fire ; then screen them 
In those looks, where whoso gazes 
Faints, entangled in their mazes. 

"Child of Light! thy limbs are burning 

Through the vest which seems to hide them ; 
As the radiant lines of morning 

Through the clouds, ere they divide them ; 
And this atmosphere divinest 
Shrouds thee wheresoe'er thou shinest." 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 455 

" The Cenci " occupies a unique place among the poet's 
works. In it he descends from his usual wild and imagi- 
native flights to the realities of life. The poem is a dra- 
matic rendering of the legend of Beatrice Cenci, who, 
under insupportable provocation, killed her monster of a 
father. The poet himself, who has criticised it freely, 
says : " It is written without any of the peculiar feelings 
and opinions which characterize my other compositions ; I 
have attended simply to the impartial development of such 
characters as it is probable the persons represented really 
were, together with the greatest degree of popular effect 
to be produced by such a development." It ranks among 
the best dramas produced since the death of Shakespeare. 

The year 1820, which was spent chiefly at Pisa, saw the 
production of some of his choicest lyrics. Among these are 
the "Ode to Naples," the ''Ode to Liberty," ''To a Skylark," 
the most popular of his lyrics, and the inimitable "Cloud" : — 

'' I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, 

From the seas and the streams ; 
I bear light shade for the leaves when laid 

In their noon-day dreams. 
From my wings are shaken the dews that waken 

The sweet buds every one, 
When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, 

As she dances about the sun. 
I wield the flail of the lashing hail, 

And whiten the green plains under, 
And then again I dissolve it in rain. 

And laugh as I pass in thunder."' 

The " Letter to Maria Gisborne," in the same key as 
"Julian and Maddalo," is specially interesting for its char- 
acterizations of some of the poet's contemporaries. 



456 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

Shelley took the poet's art seriously. While he be- 
stowed careful labor on the correction and finish of his 
original drafts, he emphasized most of all the necessity 
of special inspiration. In his prose work " Defence of 
Poetry," written in 1820, he says: "Poetry is not like 
reasoning, a power to be exerted according to the deter- 
mination of the will. A man cannot say * I will compose 
poetry.' The greatest poet even cannot say it, for the 
mind in creation is as a fading coal, which some invisible 
influence, like an inconstant wind, awakens to transitory 
brightness ; this power arises from within, like the color 
of a flower which fades and changes as it is developed, 
and the conscious portions of our natures are unprophetic 
either of its approach or its departure. Could this influ- 
ence be durable in its original purity and force, it is impos- 
sible to predict the greatness of the results ; but when 
composition begins, inspiration is already on the decline, 
and the most glorious poetry that has ever been commu- 
nicated to the world is probably a feeble shadow of the 
original conceptions of the poet." 

The most important of his remaining productions (many 

'worthy of mention must be passed over) are " Epipsy- 

chidion," addressed to a beautiful but unfortunate lady in' 

whom Shelley became deeply interested, and " Adonais," 

a lament over the death of the Doet Keats. The latter is 

i. 

an elegy of great beauty, deserving to rank with Milton's 
" Lycidas " and Tennyson's '' In Memoriam." Shelley did 
not regard death as annihilation, but as a return of the 
soul to the Spirit of Nature, from which it originally came. 
Without losing its personal consciousness, the soul thus 
becomes participant in a broad, divine life, and has its part 



PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 457 

in all the glories of the universe. So Shelley sings of his 
friend and brother poet : — 

" He is made one with Nature : tliere is heard 
His voice in all her music, from the moan 
Of thunder to the song of night's sweet bird ; 
He is a presence to be felt and known 
In darkness and in light, from herb and stone, 
Spreading itself where'er that Power may move 
Which has withdrawn his being to its own ; 
Which wields the world with never-wearied love, 
Sustains it from beneath, and kindles it above." 

The last dwelling-place of Shelley was on the Gulf of 
Spezia, whither he removed in April, 1822. He was now 
surrounded by congenial friends, and life seemed opening 
to him with fairer prospects. He felt a tranquillity of 
spirit, to which he had hitherto been a stranger, *' I am 
content," he wrote, *' if the heaven above me is calm for 
the passing moment." Under these favorable conditions, 
he began a lengthy poem, "The Triumph of Life," which 
was conceived on the lofty plane of his masterpieces. 
But the end was near. He was passionately fond of boat- 
ing. He owned a schooner, in which he had gone to Leg- 
horn to meet his friend, Leigh Hunt. On his return, July 
8, 1822, he encountered a sudden squall, the boat was cap- 
sized, and he, with two companions, was drowned. His 
body was found a few days later, and, after the ancient 
Greek fashion, was cremated on the shore near Via 
Reggio. The poet's ashes were collected and buried in 
the Protestant cemetery at Rome. 

Shelley is, perhaps, the most poetical of our poets. He 
has not the philosophic quality of Wordsworth, nor the 



458 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

versatile power of Byron ; but in sustained loftiness and 
sweep of imagination he surpasses both his great contem- 
poraries. He can never be a popular poet. He dwells 
habitually in an imaginative realm beyond the popular 
taste and the popular capacity. No other poet seems to 
have the rapture of inspiration in a fuller degree. To 
some extent he was as the voice of one crying in the 
wilderness. He not only pointed out many of the evils 
of social life, but with steadfast faith prophesied a happier 
era. The principles that inspired much of his poetry, 
separated indeed from his extravagance, have since met 
with wide acceptance. 

As a practical reformer, Shelley's life must be regarded 
as a failure. While his aims were essentially pure and 
noble, his ignorance of the world betrayed him into fatal 
mistakes. His ardor outstripped discretion ; and he 
sought to do in a brief space what can be accomplished 
only in the slow evolution of centuries. His unbalanced 
enthusiasm betrayed him into extravagances ; and thus, 
while seeking unselfishly to improve the state of society, 
he advocated radical doctrines, which in practice would 
have increased tenfold the evils they were intended to 
cure. 



J 



1 




A photograph after paintinj; by Arclier. 



'^A(i^?n4~^ 9z^^^ 



U/huC 



Ct^ 



THOMAS DE QUINCEY. 459 



THOMAS DE QUINCEY. 

De Quincey was, like Pope, of insignificant stature, but 
of a singularly intelligent face. A noble brow rose over 
his thin, finely chiselled features, and his blue eyes glowed 
with an unfathomable depth. He was nervously shy, and, 
like Hawthorne, almost morbidly averse to every sort of 
publicity. His mental activity was prodigious, and at his 
best he deserves to rank as one of the most delightful 
English talkers. Both as a talker and writer he used 
''an awfu' sicht o' words," as a shrewd Scotch servant 
said of him ; but they were so fastidiously chosen and so 
musically uttered as to be little less than charming. He 
was a unique personality ; and beyond almost all other 
writers he has infused his character — idiosyncrasies and 
all — into his writings. 

De Quincey's family was an old one. When a boy about 
fifteen, he once met the king near Windsor. '' Did your 
family," his Majesty kindly inquired, " come into England 
with the Huguenots at the revocation of the edict of 
Nantes } " With a flush of pride the boy answered : 
" Please your Majesty, the family has been in England 
since the Conquest." "How do you know that.'*" the 
king again asked with a smile. " From the very earliest 
of all English books, Robert of Gloucester's ' Metrical 
Chronicle,' which was written about 1280," the young 
scholar replied. The aristocratic prefix de, which had 



460 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

long been dropped by the family, appears to have been 
resuscitated by our author himself. 

Thomas de Quincey was born in Manchester, the fifth 
of eight children, Aug. 15, 1785. His father was "a 
plain English merchant " of large means, esteemed for 
his great integrity, and strongly attached to literary pur- 
suits. " My mother," De Quincey says, ** I may mention 
with honor, as still more highly gifted ; for though unpre- 
tending to the name and honors of a literary woman, I 
shall presume to call her (what many literary women are 
not) an intcllectiLal woman." Her letters are character- 
ized by strong sense and idiomatic grace. 

It is peculiarly true of De Quincey that the child was 
father of the man. As a child he was shy, sensitive, 
dreamy, marvellously precocious in thought and feeling. 
Owing to this strange precocity, his early years brought 
him unwonted anguish of spirit. But the sorrow that 
touched him most deeply was the death of his oldest 
sister Elizabeth, a child of wonderful promise and beauty, 
to whom he was attached with all the ardor of a super- 
sensitive nature. He stole into the room where the body 
was resting in almost angelic sweetness. " Awe, not 
fear," he says, in a passage of deep pathos, " fell upon 
me ; and whilst I stood, a solemn wind began to blow — 
the saddest that ear ever heard. It was a wind that might 
have swept the fields of mortality for a thousand centuries 
— in this world the one great audible symbol of eternity." 
Then a trance fell upon him, attended with a magnificent 
vision. But at length he came to himself, kissed the lips 
that he should kiss no more, and stole, like a guilty thing, 
from the room — a sad, imperishable memory in his heart. 



J 



THOMAS DE QUINCE Y. 46 1 

Dc Ouincey loved solitude, the charms of which he has 
often portrayed in his writings. " All day long," he says 
in recalling his childhood, *' when it was not impossible for 
me to do so, I sought the most silent and sequestered 
nooks in the grounds about the house or in the neighbor- 
ing fields. The awful stillness oftentimes of summer 
noons, when no winds were abroad, the appealing silence 
of gray or misty afternoons, — these were fascinations as 
of witchcraft. Into the woods, into the desert air, I gazed, 
as if some comfort lay hid in them. I wearied the heaven^s 
with my beseeching looks. Obstinately I tormented the 
blue depths with my scrutiny, sweeping them forever with 
my eyes, and searching them for one angelic face that 
might, perhaps, have permission to reveal itself for a 
moment." 

In his later childhood De Quincey passed under the 
absolute tyranny of " a horrid, pugilistic boy," an elder 
brother who had returned home from the rough discipline 
of a public school. " His genius for mischief," to quote 
the victim's humorous account written years afterward, 
" amounted to inspiration ; it was a divine afflatus which 
drove him in that direction ; and such was his capacity for 
riding in whirlwinds and directing storms, that he made it 
his trade to create them, as a cloud-compelling Jove, in 
order that he might direct them." He despised his frail 
and pensive brother, and took no pains to conceal his feel- 
ings. "The pillars of Hercules," to quote the victim 
further, " upon which rested the vast edifice of his scorn, 
were these two: ist, my physics; he denounced me for 
effeminacy; 2d, he assumed, and even postulated as a 
datum, which I myself could never have the face to re- 



462 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



1 



fute, my general idiocy. Physically, therefore, and intel- 
lectually, he looked upon me as below notice ; but, morally, 
he assured me that he would give me a written character 
of the very best description, whenever I chose to apply for 
it. 'You're honest,' he said; 'you're willing, though lazy; 
you zvould pull, if you had the strength of a flea; and, 
though a monstrous coward, you don't run away! '" 

The family now lived at Greenhay, a handsome resi- 
dence a mile or so from Manchester, and the two boys, on 
their way to school, had to pass daily by a cotton mill. 
The elder brother, with uncontrollable martial propensities, 
stirred up a feud with the factory boys, which led every 
day to a pitched battle with stones. As commander-in- 
chief, he held his timid brother to a rigid military obedi- 
ence. The war raged with varying fortunes, month after 
month. Though sometimes denounced or cashiered for 
cowardice, Thomas's conduct appeared on the whole com- 
mendable, and before his eighth year he was elevated by 
his brother to the rank of major-general. For some three 
years and a half the shy, timid, dreamy boy, subject to the 
mischievous tyranny of his brother, knew no rest day or 
night. It was only when his brother went to London to 
study drawing, that he once more regained his freedom. 

In 1796, the year to which the preceding incidents have 
brought us, De Quincey was placed in the public school 
of Bath, a town to which his mother had recently removed. 
He brought to his new surroundings an unusual amount 
of information gathered from miscellaneous reading. In 
Latin he was recognized as little short of a prodigy and 
was weekly '' paraded for distinction at the supreme tri- 
bunal of the school." The result may easily be foreseen. 



THOMAS DE QUINCE Y. 463 

Some of his jealous comrades inaugurated what he de- 
scribed as a state of "warfare at a public school." He 
was threatened with immediate " annihilation " ; but fortu- 
nately for English literature, the threat was never carried 
out. 

He next spent a year or more at a private school in 
Wiltshire, the chief recommendation of which was its re- 
ligious character. He disliked the school, as it afforded 
only a narrow field for the display of his attainments. 
Without effort he stood at the head. His attainments in 
Greek now equalled his attainments in Latin. " At thir- 
teen," he says, '' I wrote Greek with ease ; and at fifteen 
my command of that language was so great that I not only 
composed Greek verses in lyric metres, but would converse 
in Greek fluently and without embarrassment." This flu- 
ency he acquired by his habit of turning the daily papers 
into Greek. '' That boy," said one of his masters to a 
stranger, '' that boy could harangue an Athenian mob bet- 
ter than you or I could address an English one." 

The year 1800 De Quincey designates as the period of 
his entry into the world. He was invited by Lord West- 
fort, a young friend of his own age, to accompany him on 
a visit to Ireland. The various experiences of the next 
few months lifted him to what he calls '' premature man- 
hood," for he was yet but fifteen years of age. He was 
invited to court entertainments ; he passed a short time in 
"the nation of London." More than all, he met on a boat 
a young lady of great beauty and culture, who inspired 
him with a new and uplifting reverence for woman. This 
incident fixed, as he thought, a great era of change in his 
life. " Ever after, throughout the period of youth," he 



464 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

said, " I was jealous of my own demeanor, reserved and 
awe-struck, in the presence of woman ; reverencing often 
not so much them as my own ideal of woman latent in 
them. For I carried about with me the idea, to which 
I often seemed to see an approximation, of — 

* A perfect woman, nobly planned, 
To warn, to comfort, and command.'" 

After spending some weeks in Ireland, where he met a 
number of the most distinguished men of the day, he re- 
turned to England and passed several months at the resi- 
dence of Lady Carbery, an intimate friend of his mother's. 
Chiefly through the influence of De Quincey's mother, 
Lady Carbery had become deeply interested in religion. 
Wishing to ground herself more thoroughly in theological 
lore, she consulted her youthful but scholarly friend. She 
was advised to study the Greek Testament ; and under his 
enthusiastic tuition she made rapid progress. She called 
him her ''Admirable Crichton." As will be readily under- 
stood, these were days of rapid improvement and great 
happiness to De Quincey ; and when he left the park gates 
of Laxton, it was not without forebodings for the future. 

He was now, late in 1800, placed in the Manchester 
Grammar School. He was thoroughly dissatisfied with 
the school ; and when his mother, after a year and a half, 
refused to Hsten to his pleas for removal, he formed the 
desperate resolution to run away. He went to Wales, 
where he tramped over the country at will, often, for the 
sake of economy, sleeping under the open sky and dining 
on the blackberries by the roadside. At length growing 
tired of this wandering life, which, however, was not with- 



THOMAS DE QUINCE Y. 465 

out interesting adventures, he determined to seek his for- 
tune in London. He ceased writing to his mother ; and 
thus depriving himself of the small stipend that had been 
allowed him, he was brought to the verge of beggary and 
starvation in the great metropolis. SThe incidents of his 
London vagrancy — his sleeping on the straw in Brunell's 
office, his efforts to borrow money, and his acquaintance 
with the poor outcast Ann of Oxford Street, who once 
saved his Hf e — are all graphically and pathetically told in 
his " Confessions." Finally he was discovered and re- 
claimed by his friends. 

In December, 1803, De Quincey entered Worcester 
College, Oxford. He was connected with the university 
for five years, but finally left it without a degree. He led 
a life of great retirement. He calculates that for the first 
two years he spoke less than a hundred words. But his 
morbid seclusion and silence were not spent in idleness. 
He had an insatiable thirst for reading and books ; and to 
increase his library he sorely stinted his wardrobe. He 
lamented the excessive devotion to Latin and Greek, and 
the utter neglect of English literature at the university. 
He stoutly maintained the superiority of modern over 
ancient literature. "We engage," he said, "to produce 
many scores of passages from Chaucer, not exceeding 
fifty to eighty lines, which contain more of picturesque 
simplicity, more tenderness, more fidelity to nature, more 
felicity of sentiment, more animation of narrative, and more 
truth of character than can be matched in all the ' Iliad ' 
or the * Odyssey.' " 

In 1808 he left Oxford, to which he professed to owe 

nothing. Of its vast riches he took nothing away. Once 
2 H 



466 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

seeking relief from neuralgic pain, he resorted to lauda- 
num ; and, like Coleridge, he became henceforth an opium 
fiend. It never gained quite so complete a mastery over 
him as over his illustrious contemporary ; but for more 
than fifty years, sometimes in enormous quantities, it re- 
mained a necessity v^ith him. He became, in some meas- 
ure, the apologist of opium, to which he addresses more 
than one eloquent but unpleasing apostrophe. 

Before his connection with Oxford ceased, he had al- 
ready met several writers destined to achieve great dis- 
tinction. On one of his frequent visits to London, he met 
Charles Lamb. In 1807 he met Coleridge and Words- 
worth, to whom he had been especially attracted by the 
'' Lyrical Ballads." The poems in this volume had been 
to him as *' the ray of a new morning." It is a striking 
proof of his literary insight and courageous independence 
that he championed Wordsworth's poetry at a time when 
it was almost universally decried. 

In November, 1809, ^^ Quincey took up his residence 
at Grasmere, occupying the pretty cottage that Words- 
worth had just left for Allan Bank. Here, first as a 
bachelor and afterward as a married man, he lived till his 
removal to Edinburgh in 1830. He devoted himself to 
study, particularly to German metaphysics, with great as- 
siduity. He associated on terms of intimacy with all the 
other celebrities of the Lake District, including Wordsworth, 
Coleridge, Southey, and Wilson. For a time he was almost 
utterly prostrated from the use of opium. A quart of 
ruby-colored laudanum in a decanter and a book of Ger- 
man metaphysics by its side — these he mentions as sure 
indications of his being in the neighborhood. 



I 



THOMAS DE QUINCE Y. 467 

In his ** Literary Reminiscences," one of the most inter- 
esting volumes of his collected works, De Quincey dwells 
principally on this period of his life. Nowhere else do we 
find life in the Lake District so finely portrayed. The 
sketches of Coleridge and Wordsworth are extended and 
exquisite studies, though at times there is a suggestion of 
venom in his treatment of these great writers. His early 
reverence for Wordsworth, whose hospitality he frequently 
enjoyed, was little short of idolatry ; but in later years, 
owing apparently to the poet's self-complacent unrespon- 
siveness, De Quincey became estranged almost to the 
point of bitterness. 

The inherited means, which De Quincey had hitherto 
lived upon, were now exhausted. Under the stress of 
domestic necessities, he roused himself, by a prodigious 
effort, from the intellectual torpor to which the opium 
habit had reduced him. In 1821 he began his literary 
career with his "Confessions of an Opium-Eater," which 
appeared in the Loiidoji Magazine anonymously. The 
"Confessions" were honestly autobiographical; and be- 
sides many interesting facts of his early life, they told of 
the growing power of the terrible drug, and described, 
in passages of almost incomparable splendor, the nightly 
visions that came to him waking and sleeping. The arti- 
cles, both for their style and matter, attracted general at- 
tention, and opened to him the best magazines of the day. 
He wrote about one hundred and fifty articles, which taken 
together, \wth the exception of two or three unimportant 
books, constitute his literary remains. 

In 1824 he published an article on Goethe, based on 
Carlyle's translation of " Wilhelm Meister." The article 



468 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

was chiefly an onslaught on the great German, who was 
represented as a tiresome and immoral impostor. But the 
translator himself came in for a good share of criticism, 
his Scotticisms, his mistakes in German, and his awkward 
prose being dwelt upon. The review accidentally fell into 
the surly Scotchman's hands ; and in his " Reminiscences," 
where he speaks of the matter, he more than quits the 
score with a sketch in aqua fortis. De Quincey, he says, 
''was a pretty little creature, full of wire-drawn ingenui- 
ties, bankrupt enthusiasms, bankrupt pride, with the finest 
silver-toned low voice, and most elaborate gently winding 
courtesies and ingenuities in conversation. ... A bright, 
ready, and melodious talker, but in the end inconclusive 
and long-winded. One of the smallest man figures I ever 
saw ; shaped like a pair of tongs, and hardly above five 
feet in all. When he sate, you would have taken him by 
candlelight for the beautif ullest little child ; blue-eyed, 
sparkling face, had there not been something, too, which 
said, ' Eccovi — this child has been in hell.' " 

In 1825 De Quincey brought out "Walladmor," which 
he pronounced " the most complete hoax ever perpetrated." 
At this period there was a great demand, not only in Eng- 
land but on the Continent, for the Waverley novels. Ac- 
cordingly, when no new work of Scott's was forthcoming 
in 1823, a German writer perpetrated the forgery of 
" Walladmor " — a long-winded and stupid production. 
De Quincey gave it a hasty but favorable review, and 
as a consequence he was commissioned to translate it. 
He entered upon the task ; but a careful examination 
showed him its utter worthlessness. It was too late, how- 
ever, to retreat. And, accordingly, he condensed and re- 



THOMAS DE QUINCE Y. 469 

wrote the book, reducing the three German volumes to 
two slender English ones. It thus became a forgery upon 
a forgery ; but seeing the humorous side of the thing, 
De Quincey dedicated his pretended translation to the 
German author in a preface of excellent humor and 
drollery. 

After 1826 his literary career is transferred from Lon- 
don to Edinburgh. Through the influence of Wilson, 
with whom he had roamed over the valleys and mountains 
of the Lake District, he became a contributor to Black- 
zvood. Besides articles on Lessing and Kant, he published 
in 1827 his famous essay "On Murder Considered as One 
of the Fine Arts." It is a piece of sustained wit and 
humor. He deals with murder as some critics deal with 
literature : he admits that morally it is not exactly to be 
approved ; but " when tried by principles of taste, it turns 
out sometimes to be a very meritorious performance." 

In 1830 De Quincey moved his family to Edinburgh, 
and ten years later he occupied the cottage of Lasswade, 
a few miles out of the city. His life was now one of al- 
most unintermitting suffering and struggle. In 1835 he 
lost his faithful wife Margaret, to whom he was deeply 
attached, and who, throughout the sore trials of her domes- 
tic life, had steadfastly maintained her character as a brave 
and gentle woman. His health was frequently frail, and 
at times he succumbed to his appetite for opium. He 
avoided society, and it was only with difficulty that he 
could be entrapped for a dinner party. But through it 
all he continued to produce, at the rate of half a dozen a 
year, that marvellous series of papers that have given him 
an imperishable place in English literature. Besides those 



470 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

already mentioned, the following are worthy of special 
attention : " Suspiria de Profundis," " The English Mail 
Coach," *' Revolt of the Tartars," ''On War," ''Joan of 
Arc," "Style," "Rhetoric," "Language." 

De Ouincey rejects the common opinion that style is 
the dress of thought. To him it is something far more 
profound. Adopting a happy phrase of Wordsworth's, he 
defines style as "the incarnation of thought." He be- 
stowed exceeding care on his composition. He had an 
exquisite sense of the force of words and beauty of form. 
He had a singularly sensitive ear and took great pains, as 
he tells us, not only to avoid cacophony, but also to 
frame musical sentences. For precision in the use of lan- 
guage and for melody in the structure of his periods, De 
Quincey takes high rank among English writers. Less 
monotonous than Gibbon or Macaulay, his style varies, 
according to the changing thought, from the careless ease 
of colloquial forms to the sustained grandeur of impas- 
sioned eloquence. The Dream Fugue in " The English 
Mail Coach " may be described as a prose poem. 

De Quincey did not begin his literary career until his 
mind was well stored with knowledge. His reading cov- 
ered a wide field, including not only English literature and 
English history, but also Greek and Latin literature, Ger- 
man metaphysics, and a whole multitude of unusual and 
nondescript works. His well-kept library numbered more 
than five thousand volumes. His writings cover a wide 
range of subjects and are peculiarly rich in their allusions. 
History, nature, art, poetry, music, are all called upon to 
grace the substantial structure of his thought. His vo- 
cabulary is exceedingly copious ; he not only drew on the 



THOMAS DE QUINCE Y. 47 1 

native Saxon and Latin elements of our language, but 
ruthlessly lugged in Latin, Greek, French, German, or 
whatever other tongue furnished him with a fitting phrase. 

To De Quincey we owe an interesting distinction in 
literature — one that is readily applicable to his own writ- 
ings. "There is first," he says, **the literature of knowl- 
edge, and, secondly, the literature of poivei^ The function 
of the first is to teach ; the function of the second is to 
move : the first is a rudder, the second an oar or a sail. 
The first speaks to the mere discursive understanding; the 
second speaks ultimately, it may happen, to the higher 
understanding or reason, but always tJiroiigJi the affections 
of pleasure and sympathy." To this latter kind of litera- 
ture belong those works of De Quincey — " The Confes- 
sions," '* Suspiria," ''English Mail Coach," "Murder as a 
Fine Art," "Joan of Arc," and the "Autobiographical 
Sketches" and "Literary Reminiscences" — by which 
he will retain a permanent place among great English 
writers. 

De Quincey can hardly be classed as a great thinker. 
He is ingenious and graceful rather than profound. He 
rarely submitted to the restraints of a strict logical method. 
His digressions are as frequent as those of Coleridge, but 
are held under better control : instead of running entirely 
away with him, they always return, and sometimes felici- 
tously, to the main subject in hand. He is conscious of 
his digressive style and sometimes makes humorous refer- 
ence to it. In his essay " On War," after being switched 
off for a couple of pages, he returns to the main line of 
thought with the remark : " This digression, now, on anec- 
dotes, is what the learned call an excursus, and I am afraid 



4/2 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

too long by half — not strictly in proportion. But don't 
mind that. I'll make it all right by being too short upon 
something else at the next opportunity ; and then nobody 
can complain." 

De Quincey's life was preeminently intellectual. 
*' Without breach of truth or modesty," he says, *' I may 
affirm that my life has been, on the whole, the life of a 
philosopher ; from my birth I was made an intellectual 
creature ; and intellectual in the highest sense my pur- 
suits and pleasures have been, even from my school-boy 
days." Even his irrepressible humor has an eminently 
intellectual flavor. De Quincey was not, like Carlyle, a 
great moral force in the world. While capable of deep 
affection, he was not subject to violent outbursts of indig- 
nation at the sight of evil. He did not set himself up as a 
reformer. " I am too much of a eudaemonist," he said ; 
*' I hanker too much after a state of happiness for my- 
self and others." He sought refuge from the hard con- 
flicts of the world in the retirement of his study. He 
tried to smooth the path of life by tireless courtesies of 
manner and speech. He possessed in an eminent degree 
"the grace of perfect breeding, everywhere persuasive, 
and nowhere emphatic." 

His death, which occurred Dec. 8, 1859, was calm 
and beautiful. His mind seemed to revert to his early 
associations. At the last his heart asserted its supremacy 
over the intellect, and his last act was to throw up his arms 
and exclaim, as if with a cry of surprised recognition, 
" Sister, sister, sister ! " Perhaps it was a vision of his 
dearly loved sister Elizabeth, dead nearly seventy years 
before, who had now come to lead him beyond the river. 



J 



VICTORIAN AGE. 



PRINCIPAL WRITERS. 

Novelists. — Edward Bulwer, Lord Lytton (1805-1873). Volumi- 
nous and popular novelist and dramatist; author of "Eugene Aram" 
(183 1), "The Last Days of Pompeii" (1834), "Last of the Barons" 
(1843), "The Caxtons" (1849), "My Novel" (1853), etc. "The 
Lady of Lyons " and "Richelieu" are two of the best modern dramas. 

Benjamin Disraeli, Earl of Beaconsfield (i 804-1 881). Statesman 
and novelist ; author of "Vivian Grey " (1827), "Coningsby" (1844), 
"Lothair" (1870), " Endymion " (1881), and many others. 

Charles Kingsley (1819-1875). Clergyman, poet, and novelist; 
author of "Alton Locke " (1,849), "Hypatia" (1853), "Westward Ho " 
(1855), " Hereward the Wake " (1866), etc. 

Frederick Marryat (i 792-1 848). NoveJist of nautical adventure, 
who is unsurpassed in his sphere. " Peter Simple," " Jacob Faithful," 
and "Mr. Midshipman Easy" are perhaps his best. Other novels are 
"The Phantom Ship" (1839), ''Masterman Ready" (1841), "The Pri- 
vateersman " (1844), and many more. 

Anthony Trollope (181 5-1882). One of the most voluminous of all 
novelists; author of "The Warden" (1855), " Barchester Towers " 
(1857), " Framley Parsonage " (i860), " Can You Forgive Her " (1864), 
"Phineas Finn" (1869), etc. 

Charles Reade (1814-1884). Author of "Peg Woffington" (1852), 
"It is Never Too Late to Mend" (1856), "The Cloister and the Hearth" 
(1861), etc. 

Wilkie Collins (i 824-1 889). Author of numerous novels, among 
which are " The Woman in White " (i860), " No Name " (1862), " The 
Moonstone " (1868), " Man and Wife " (1870), etc. Some of his novels 
have been dramatized. 

Robert Louis Stevenson (i 845-1 894). Novelist of the new romantic 
school; author of "Virginibus Puerisque " (1881), "Treasure Island" 

473 



474 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



1 



(1883), ''Prince Otto'' (1885), "Kidnapped" (1886), "The Master of 
Ballantrae" (1889). 

Dinah Maria Craik (i 826-1 888). Author of many novels, preeminent 
among which are "John Halifax, Gentleman" and "A Life for a Life" 
(1859). Others are "Mistress and Maid" (1863), "A Noble Life" 
(1866), "The Woman's Kingdom" (1869), etc. 

Poetry. — Arthur Hugh Clough (1819-1861) : "The Bothie of 
Tober-na-Vuolich " ( 1 848) and " Depsychus " ( 1 862) . A poet of doubt, 
who " has neither the strength to believe nor the courage to disbelieve." 

Lord Lytton ("Owen Meredith") (1831-1892). Statesman, novelist, 
and poet; author of the following poetical works: " Clytemnestra" 
(1855), "The Wanderer" (1859), " Lucile " (i860), "Fables in Song," 
and several others. 

Wilham Morris (i 834-1 896). Novelist and poet. His principal 
poetical works are "The Defence of Guinevere" (1858), "The Life 
and Death of Jason " (1867), "The Earthly Paradise" (1868-1871), 
" Love is Enough " (1873). 

Algernon Charles Swinburne (i 837-). Poet, dramatist, and critic ; 
author of "Atalanta in Calydon : a Tragedy" (1865), "Poems and 
Ballads" (1866), "Siena: a Poem" (1868), -Songs Before Sunrise" 
(1871), "Poems and Ballads" (1878), "Songs of the Spring Tides" 
(1880), and many others. 

Dante Gabriel Rossetti (i 828-1 882). Artist and poet; author of 
"The Blessed Damozel" (1848), "Sister Helen" (1851), "Early 
Italian Poets" (1861), "Poems" (1870-1882). Rossetti, Swinburne, 
and Morris are the chief representatives of the romantic spirit in the 
poetry of the Victorian Age. 

Henry Austin Dobson (1840-). Poet and critic; author of " Vig- 
nettes in Rhyme" (1873), ''Proverbs in Porcelain'' (1877), "At the 
Sign of the Lyre" (1885), etc. 

Andrew Lang (1844-). Poet and prose writer ; author of " Ballads 
in Blue China" (1881), "Rhymes a la Mode" (1884), "Ballads of 
Books" (1888). Among his prose writings are " Custom and Myth " 
(1884) and "Myth, Ritual, and Religion" (1887). 

Edwin Arnold (1832-). Sanskrit scholar, editor, and poet; author 
of "The Light of Asia" (1878), "Pearls of the Faith" (1882), "The 
Song Celestial" (1885), and "The Light of the World" (1891). 

William Watson (1844-). Poet, and author of "The Prince's 
Guest" (1880), "Wordsworth's Grave" (1889), and "Poems" (1892). 



VICTORIAN AGE. 475 

History. — George Grote (1794-1871). Member of Parliament, 
an extreme Liberal in politics, and author of an excellent " History of 
Greece" (1846-1856), and intended as an antidote to Mitfosd. 

Connop Thirlwall (i 797-1 875). Bishop of St. David's, and author 
of a "History of Greece" (1835-1847), likewise written from a Liberal 
point of view. This work, as well as that by Grote, is standard. 

Henry Hart Milman (1791-1868). Dean of St. PauPs, and author 
of a "History of the Jews" (1829), "History of Latin Christianity" 
(1854). In addition to his excellent histories, he edited Gibbon, and 
published a few poems. 

James A. Froude (1818-1894). Essayist and historian; author of 
a "History of England" (1856-1869), "The English in Ireland" 
( 1 871-1874), ''Short Studies on Great Subjects" (1867), "Life of 
Carlyle " (1884) . One of the most interesting of historians, but some- 
times inaccurate. 

Edward Augustus Freeman (1823-1892). A voluminous historian; 
author of "A History of Architecture" (1849), "History of the Sara- 
cens" (1856), "History of the Norman Conquest" (1867-1879), 
"Growth of the English Constitution" (1872), and many other works, 
all distinguished for careful statement. 

W. E. H. Lecky (1838-). Philosophic historian ; author of " Leaders 
of Public Opinion in Ireland" (1861), "History of Rationalism in Eu- 
rope" (1865), "History of European Morals" (1869), and a "History 
of England in the Eighteenth Century" (1878-1890). 

John Richard Green (i 837-1 883). Clergyman, and author of " Short 
History of the English People " (1874), " History of the English People " 
(1878-1880), a work in four volumes, and "The Making of England" 
(1882). All are admirable works. 

Thomas Arnold (1795-1842). Clergyman, head-master of Rugby, 
and author of five volumes of sermons, an edition of Thucydides, and 
a " History of Rome " in three volumes. 

Sir Archibald Alison (1792- 1867). Lawyer and historian; author 
of" History of Europe" (i 839-1 859), " Life of the Duke of Marlborough" 
(1847), etc. His "History of Europe" is interesting rather than pro- 
found. 

Science and Philosophy. — Charles Darwin (1809-1882). Emi- 
nent naturalist; author of "Journal of Researches" (1839-1845), 
"Origin of Species" (1859), "Descent of Man" (1871), etc. His writ- 
ings have exerted an immense influence on modern thought. 



4/6 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

Herbert Spencer (1820-). The ablest of evolutionist philosophers; 
author of " Principles of Psychology " (1855), " First Principles '' (1862), 
"Principles' of Biology" (1867), "Principles of Psychology" (1872), 
" The Study of Sociology " (1872), etc. 

Thomas Henry Huxley (i 825-1 895). Biologist, lecturer, and 
essayist; author of "Oceanic Hydrozoa" (1859), "Man's Place in 
Nature" (1863), " Lay Sermons " (1870), "Introduction to the Classifi- 
cation of Animals" (1877), "Science, Culture, and Other Essays" (1882), 
etc. He has done much to popularize scientific knowledge. 

John Stuart Mill (1806-1873). Editor, essayist, and philosopher; 
author of a " System of Logic" (1843), "Political Economy" (1848), 
" Representative Government" (i860), "Subjection of Women" (1869), 
"Examination of Hamilton's Philosophy" (1865), etc. 

Sir William Hamilton (i 788-1 856). One of the ablest Scotch 
metaphysicians ; author of " Discussions in Philosophy, Literature, and 
Education" (1853), "Lectures on Metaphysics and Logic," published 
after his death. 

Hugh Miller (1802-1856). Geologist and able writer; author of 
"Old Red Sandstone" (1841), "Footprints of the Creator," "My 
Schools and Schoolmasters," and "Testimony of the Rocks," the last 
being an attempt to reconcile geology and Genesis. 

GREAT REPRESENTATIVE WRITERS. 

Thomas Babington Macaulay. Robert Browning. 

Charlotte Bronte. Alfred Tennyson. 

William Makepeace Thackeray. Thomas Carlyle. 

Charles Dickens. Matthew Arnold. 

George Eliot. John Ruskin. 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 



VIII. 
VICTORIAN AGE. 

(1832-1900.) 

Grandeur of the age — Inventions — Notable era — Scientific inves- 
tigation — Practical tendencies — Educational advancement — Peri- 
odical press — International relations — Political progress — Social 
improvement — Religion and philanthropy — Creative and diffusive 
literature — Essay writing — History — Fiction — Realism and ro- 
manticism -- Poetry — Thomas Babington Macaulay — Char- 
lotte Bronte — William Makepeace Thackeray — Charles 
Dickens — George Eliot — Elizabeth Barrett Browning — 
Robert BrowxNIng — Alfred Tennyson— Thomas Carlyle — 
Matthew Arnold — John Ruskin. 

It may be safely claimed that upon the whole there has 
been no grander age in the history of the world. It may 
lack, as some are disposed to claim, the aesthetic culture 
of the Age of Pericles, the great martial spirit of ancient 
Rome, the lofty ideals of the age of chivalry. But as we 
compare the conditions of the present day with those of 
any period of the past, who can doubt the fact of human 
progress ? The world has grown into a liberty, intelli- 
gence, happiness, and morality unknown at any previous 
time. To be sure, the golden age has not been reached ; 
that lies, and perhaps far distant, in the future. Many 
evils in society, in the state, and in the church need to be 
corrected. But the advancement during the present cen- 
tury, and particularly during the reign of Queen Victoria, 
has been marvellously rapid. 

477 



4/8 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

If we think of the wonderful improvements in the 
mechanic arts, we recognize this period as an age of 
invention. Within a few decades are comprised more 
numerous and more important inventions than are found 
in many preceding centuries taken together. Social and 
industrial life has been thoroughly revolutionized. Think 
of the wonders accomplished by steam ! It has supplied a 
new motive power, accelerated travel, and built up manu- 
facturing inland towns and cities. Electricity is at pres- 
ent accomplishing scarcely less. It carries our messages, 
lights our cities, and runs our street railways. The capac- 
ity of the printing-press has been vastly increased. While 
the sewing-machine has taken the place of the needle in the 
house, the reaper and the mowing-machine have supplanted 
the sickle and the scythe in the field. The breech-loading 
and repeating rifle has driven out the muzzle-loading flint- 
lock. 

These are but a few of the inventions belonging to the 
Victorian Age. "A reign," says Justin McCarthy, ''which 
saw in its earlier years the application of the electric cur- 
rent to the task of transmitting messages, the first success- 
ful attempts to make use of steam for the business of 
transatlantic navigation, the general development of the 
railway system all over these countries, and the introduc- 
tion of the penny-post, must be considered to have ob- 
tained for itself, had it secured no other memorials, an 
abiding place in history." Many a man still living has 
seen the entire system of manufacturing, travel, agricul- 
ture, and transmission of intelligence completely changed, 
witnessing a greater transformation than if he had lived 
through the preceding five centuries. 



VICTORIAN AGE. 



479 



The present period is an age of scientific investigation 
and progress. The Baconian spirit prevails ; and investi- 
gation — systematic, minute, and prolonged — has taken 
the place of empty speculation. In the presence of rapid 
changes, tradition has lost much of its power ; and with 
their growing intelligence men are less willing to be guided 
by mere authority. Careful and patient toilers are at work 
in every department of learning ; and nature, questioned as 
never before, is gradually yielding up her secrets. All 
the natural sciences — physics, zoology, botany, geology, 
chemistry, physiology, astronomy — have been wonderfully 
expanded; Faraday, Tyndall, Darwin, Spencer, and others 
are honored names in natural science. 

The same patient methods of investigation are appUed 
to the study of the mind, the origin of man, the history of 
the past. The theory of evolution, sometimes with greater 
or less modification, has been generally accepted, and, like 
the law of gravitation or the Copernican system, has greatly 
changed our views of nature and of history. Many old 
beliefs have been modified or destroyed ; but the general 
result has been to give us greater breadth of thought and 
a clearer insight into the laws of God. 

This is preeminently a practical age, aiming at visible 
results. The vast resources, which science and invention 
have placed at our command, are applied in various ways 
to the comfort and well-being of man. The material 
wealth of every country is being developed ; and daring- 
explorers, supported by private enterprise or ro3^al bounty, 
are sent to examine unknown regions. Every effort is put 
forth to make living less costly and more comfortable. No 
doubt, as is pointed out sonietimes, this practical tendency 



480 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

goes too far, subjecting aesthetic and spiritual interests to 
material ends. The ideal is, in too great a degree, ban- 
ished from life. But, in spite of these facts, the practical 
tendency of our age deserves to be considered one of its 
many claims to superiority. 

It is an age of educational advancement. In England 
as elsewhere, schools of every class have been multiplied, 
and education has been brought within the reach of the 
common people. The methods of instruction are more 
nearly conformed to the nature of the child, and the sub- 
jects of study are designed to fit the pupil for the duties 
of practical life. In higher education the change is no 
less remarkable ; the traditional curriculum, consisting 
largely of Latin and Greek, has been greatly expanded, 
and subjects of immediate practical importance — the mod- 
ern languages, natural and political science, the mother 
tongue, and history — receive increased attention. Women 
now have the advantages of higher education, either in 
separate or in coeducational colleges. 

Intelligence was never so generally diffused. The pe- 
riodical press exerts an immense influence. Great dailies 
spread before the people every morning the news of the 
world. Monthly magazines and reviews, unsurpassed in 
tasteful form and literary excellence, have been greatly 
multipHed. They powerfully stimulate literary activity, 
while cultivating the taste, intelligence, and character 
of the people. They are often the original vehicles, not 
only for what is best in fiction, poetry, and criticism, but 
also for what is most interesting in science and history. 

The present is an age of close international relations. 
Submarine cables and fleet steamers bring the various 



VICTORIAN AGE. 48 1 

nations of the earth close together. They are united by 
commercial interests. They share in common social, in- 
dustrial, scientific, and literary interests ; and what is true 
of England in these particulars is substantially true of 
America or, in a less degree, of France, or of Germany. 
Christendom has become more homogeneous ; culture is 
more cosmopolitan. With a clearer knowledge of one 
another, and with common interests fostered by commerce, 
the nations of the earth have developed kindlier feelings. 
From time to time they unite in great expositions of their 
choicest products, and settle minor differences by diplo- 
macy or arbitration. 

It is a time of political progress. The democratic prin- 
ciples, announced and defended in America and France 
at the close of the last century, have become generally 
diffused. . It is now commonly recognized that govern- 
ments exist, not for sovereigns or favored classes, but 
for the people. New reform bills have greatly extended 
the right of suffrage in England, the elective franchise 
being extended, in certain cases, even to women. The 
science of government is better understood, and legisla- 
tive enactments have become more intelligent and equi- 
table. The public administration has become purer. If 
bribery, self-aggrandizement, and dishonesty still exist, 
these evils are much less frequent than in former ages. 
Public men live in the light and are held accountable 
at the bar of public opinion. 

The present period is an era of social progress. The 

increased facilities of production have greatly cheapened 

the necessaries of life. Wages have generally increased ; 

and the poor, as well as the rich, live better than ever 
21 



482 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

before. Women enjoy greater advantages. But, at the 
same time, there is great social unrest. Many believe 
that the existing economic conditions are not final. 
Wasteful wealth sometimes exists by the side of starving 
poverty. Gigantic combinations of capital, which often 
abuse their power to wrong the people, are commonly 
recognized as a serious evil. Great attention is given to 
the study of economic and sociological questions, which 
are treated, not only in scientific, but also in fictitious, 
works. 

The religious advancement of the period under con- 
sideration is specially noteworthy. The conflict between 
dogma and science, which at times has been sharp, has 
not been prejudicial to Christianity. Superstition has 
become a thing of the past, and the emphasis of religious 
teaching is now centred upon fundamental and practical 
truths. The Gospel is looked upon as a rule of life for 
the present world, and Christ is becoming more and more 
the conscious ideal of men. The ascetic spirit has given 
place to an active spirit, which finds the highest service 
of God in bravely meeting the duties of everyday Ufe. 
The asperities of religious sects are softening ; Jews 
as well as Roman Catholics are admitted to Parliament ; 
rehgious tests are aboHshed at Oxford and Cambridge ; 
Dissenters, since 1880, have had the right to bury in the 
public churchyards with their own religious services. The 
Evangelical Alliance and the Young Men's Christian As- 
sociation are the practical manifestation of the general 
tendency toward closer union and cooperation among 
Christian people. 

In harmony with the practical tendencies of the age, 



VICTORIAN AGE. 483 

religion has become more benevolent in its activities. The 
fatherhood of God and the brotherhood of man are appre- 
ciated as never before. The church is active in mission- 
ary work at home and abroad. It is prominent in every 
work that seeks to reUeve the unfortunate and reclaim 
the lost.. The treatment of the unfortunate and the 
criminal classes is more humane. The insane are no 
longer chained in loathsome cells, the unfortunate debtor 
is 'not thrown into jail, the petty criminal is not hanged. 
The church seeks to bring a pure and benevolent spirit 
to the settlement of the great social and political problems 
of the day. 

The foregoing survey of present conditions, as they 
exist in England and elsewhere, enables us to understand 
more fully the literary character of the Victorian Age. 
It will be recognized that this period has been exceedingly 
favorable to general literature. The rich and varied Hfe 
of the English people has been reflected in their writing. 
If we seek to characterize this period on its literary side, 
we may designate it as creative and dijfusive. New fields 
of thought have been opened up ; new questions have 
been brought before society ; and the interests of life — 
social, religious, industrial, scientific — have been enor- 
mously multiplied. Never before, if we except the drama, 
was English literature so rich and so varied. In style 
there has been a return to nature ; at the same time there 
has been an artistic finish, particularly in prose, unknown 
in previous eras. 

With the estabhshment of many periodicals, essay writ- 
ing has attained a new importance and excellence. In 
the days of Addison and Johnson, the essay was devoted 



484 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

chiefly to brief discussions of light social and moral topics. 
The great critics of the Age of Scott were usually pon- 
derous. But at present, in the form of popular reviews 
and magazine articles, the essay deals with every subject 
of interest or importance. The scholar, the scientist, the 
philosopher, the historian, each uses the periodical press 
to set forth the results of his studies and investigations. 
Our leading magazines and reviews register the successive 
stages of human progress ; and without an acquaintance 
with their contents, it is difficult to keep fully abreast with 
the times. 

A notable advance is discernible in the writing of his- 
tory. Greater prominence is given to the social condition 
of the people. The sources of information have been 
greatly enlarged, and historians are expected to base their 
statements on trustworthy data. Besides, a philosophy of 
history has been recognized. Greater attention is given 
to the moving causes of events and to the general ten- 
dencies in national life. With this greater trustworthiness 
and more philosophic treatment, history has lost nothing 
of its excellence of style. If it has given up the uniform 
stateliness of Robertson and Gibbon, it has become more 
graphic, more varied, and more interesting. 

No other department of literature has shown a richer 
development during the present period than fiction. It 
occupies the place .filled by the drama during the Eliza- 
bethan period. The plot is skilfully conducted ; the char- 
acters represent every class of society ; the thoughts are 
often the deepest of which our nature is capable. Fiction is 
no longer simply a means of amusement. Without laying 
aside its artistic character, it has become in great measure 



VICTORIAN AGE. 485 

didactic. In the form of historical romance, it seeks to 
reproduce in a vivid manner the thoughts, feelings, and 
customs of other ages. The novel of contemporary life 
often holds up to view the foibles and vices of modern 
society. In many cases fiction is made the means of popu- 
larizing various social, religious, and political views. 

During the Victorian Age there has been a notable re- 
action, generally called realism, against the romanticism 
of the earlier part of the century. The scientific spirit of 
the time became dissatisfied with the fanciful pictures of 
past ages and with the impossibilities of wild romance. 
Realism, as the term indicates, adheres to reality. Dis- 
carding what is idealistic or unreal in characters and 
situations, it aims at being true to life. All the greatest 
novelists of this period — Dickens, Thackeray, George 
Eliot — were, in the best sense of the word, realists. 
Their works present a striking contrast with those of 
Scott, who was the prince of romanticists. 

As an effort to represent life as it is, we must acknowl- 
edge the worth of realism. In its proper appHcation, it 
places the novel on an immovable basis. Like Shake- 
speare's plays, it holds the mirror up to nature. Unfortu- 
nately, the reahstic writers have not, in many cases, been 
true to their fundamental principles. The great conti- 
nental leaders of realism — Tolstoi, Zola, Ibsen — have 
been tainted with a fatal pessimism. Realists of this type 
seem to see only one side of life — the darker side of sin, 
and wretchedness, and despair. They often descend to 
what is coarse, impure, obscene. No doubt their pictures 
are true, as far as they go; but the fatal defect of their 
work is that it does not reflect life as a whole. It does 



486 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

not portray the pure and noble and happy side of Ufe, 
which is just as real as the other. 

Except in the hands of genius, realism is apt to be dull. 
It gives us uninteresting photographs. There are times 
when we do not so much care for instruction as for amuse- 
ment and recreation. This fact opens a legitimate field 
for the imaginative story-teller. There is to-day a decided 
reaction against realism in the form of what has been 
called the new romanticism. It does not present to us 
elaborate studies of life, but entertains us with an inter- 
esting or exciting story. The leaders of this movement in 
England are Doyle, Stevenson, Weyman, and Hope, whose 
works in recent years have been widely read. 

As might be expected from the practical tendencies of 
the time, poetry is less prominent in literature than in 
some previous periods. But it has had not a few illustri- 
ous devotees, who stand out with prominence in the Vic- 
torian era. There are, perhaps, no names that stand 
higher than those of Tennyson and Browning. Poetry 
partakes of the many-sided character of the age. While 
the poetic imagery inherited from Greece and Rome has 
been swept away by the progress of science, poetry itself 
has gained in variety and depth. It treats with equal 
facility the present and the past. It voices the manifold 
interests and aspirations of the age — social, political, 
scientific, religious. Never before did the stream of poe- 
try have such volume and power ; and if sometimes, as in 
Clough and Matthew Arnold, it has been lacking in faith 
and cheer, it has in the main borne to men a message 
of hope, courage, and truth. 

While in large measure realistic, poetry has not cast 



VICTORIAN AGE. 487 

aside its ideal character. Modern progress in culture has 
placed it on a high vantage ground — far in advance of all 
the preceding ages ; and from this new position its pene- 
trating vision pierces farther into the realms of unexplored 
and undiscovered truth. With its present expansion in 
thought and feeling, poetry has naturally assumed new 
forms. While in dramatic poetry there is a humiliating 
decay in comparison with the Elizabethan era, yet in lyric, 
narrative, and didactic poetry we find almost unrivalled ex- 
cellence. With naturalness of form and expression, there 
is a careful and conscientious workmanship not found in 
previous periods. 



488 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY. 

Macaulay does not belong to the writers who have been 
obliged to appeal from their own generation to a more dis- 
cerning posterity. From the time he leaped into promi- 
nence by his essay on '' Milton " at the age of twenty-five, 
he has been immensely popular. No other English writer 
except, perhaps, some of the great novelists, has been more 
widely read. Though nearly half a century has passed 
since his death, there is scarcely an abatement of popular 
interest in his works. His *' History of England," his 
"Essays," and his " Lays of Ancient Rome " find a place 
in our cheap editions of standard works. In many homes 
they take their place by the side of the Bible and Shake- 
speare. 

In recent years, through the development of a more 
chastened style of writing, a noteworthy reaction against 
Macaulay's fame has been manifest. His faults as a writer, 
critic, and historian have been pointed out by thoughtful 
scholars. In some cases, no doubt, the reaction has gone 
too far, and failed to do justice to his splendid merits. What- 
ever abatements from a former unqualified laudation a new 
study of his works may force us to make, surely we shall 
find abundant reason to vindicate the popular judgment of 
the past three-quarters of a century, and to assign him a 
high rank among the writers of the Victorian Age. 

Macaulay counted his age by the years of the century, 




Engraved bj- James Faed in 1854 after the painting bj- Sir Francis Grant, P.R.A. 





J^^ 



^ 



THOMAS BABINGTON MACAU LAY. 489 

having been born Oct. 25, 1800, in Leicestershire. He was 
blessed in his parentage. His father Zachary Macaulay, of 
Scotch Presbyterian ancestry, was a man of strong charac- 
ter. Though sparing of words, he thought deeply ; and he 
persisted in whatever he undertook with the tenacity of a 
stern sense of duty. He displayed a reformer's zeal for 
the abolition of slavery in the British dominions. Macau- 
lay's mother, of Quaker descent, supplied the tenderness 
and grace that might otherwise have been lacking in the 
home. She was a mild, affectionate woman; but, at the 
same time, she had the firmness and the good sense to 
hold her son in the line of duty and high achievement. 

In his childhood Macaulay was regarded as nothing less 
than a prodigy. He acquired knowledge with astonishing_ 
ease and possessed an extraordinary power in casting it 
into literary form. At eight years he knew Scott's " Mar- 
mion " by heart. He produced history, epics, hymns, 
with surprising facility. But whatever joy these promises 
of future eminence may have awakened in his mother's 
breast, she took care not to stimulate his vanity. When 
he was thirteen, she gave him this sensible advice : "I 
know you write with great ease to yourself, and would 
rather write ten poems than prune one. All your pieces 
are much mended after a little reflection ; therefore, take 
your solitary walks and think over each separate thing. 
Spare no time or trouble, and render each piece as perfect 
as you can." 

In 1 8 18 he entered Trinity College, Cambridge. He 
exhibited an intense repugnance to mathematics. "Oh, 
for words to express my abomination of that science," he 
wrote to his mother, '' if a name sacred to the useful 



490 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

and embellishing arts may be applied to the perception 
and recollection of certain properties in numbers and 
figures!" His dominant taste was for literature. While 
making excellent attainments in the ancient classics, he ex- 
tended his reading over a wide field of modern literature. 
Poetry and fiction especially delighted him. His disposi- 
tion was amiable and generous ; and among his large circle 
of friends he exercised an almost sovereign sway through 
his brilliant power in conversation. With his large stores 
of knowledge and great command of language, he naturally 
took high rank as a debater. 

His literary productions of this period possess unusual 
interest. They show that his literary faculties matured 
early, and that his distinctive style was a natural gift. In 
a prize essay on William HI., fragments of which have 
been preserved, we find the following characteristic pas- 
sage : "Lewis XIV. was not a great general. He was 
not a great legislator. But he was in one sense of the 
word a great king. He was a perfect master of all the 
mysteries of the science of royalty — of the arts which at 
once extend power and conciliate popularity, which most 
advantageously display the merits and most dexterously 
conceal the deficiencies of a sovereign." 

His contributions to Knight's Quarterly Magazine, in- 
cluding verse, fiction, and criticism, reveal rare maturity 
of thought and expression. The poem, " Battle of 

Ivry," — 

" Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, 

From whom all glories are!" — 

is scarcely surpassed by any of his later verse. The 
" Fragments of a Roman Tale " and '* Scenes from the 



THOMAS BABINGTON MAC AULA Y. 49 1 

Athenian Revels " exhibit special gifts in fiction and dra- 
matic dialogue. His study of " Dante " and *' Petrarch " 
show the largeness of method and the wealth of knowl- 
edge that characterize nearly all of his literary essays. 

In 1825 he began his long series of contributions to the 
EdmbtircrJi Review with his elaborate and well-known 
essay on " Milton." Though it contained, as he afterward 
said, " scarcely a paragraph such as his matured judgment 
approved," it almost took England by storm. It revealed 
the presence of a new force in literature. It introduced 
him with great eclat to the literary and social circles of the 
metropolis, where his genial nature and brilliant talk in- 
creased his popularity. At this period he was described 
by Henry Crabb Robinson as a man ''overflowing with 
words, and not poor in thought." 

While he was yet at Cambridge, his father lost his for- 
tune in business. This event brought out the sterling side 
of his character. He received the news of his father's 
failure with cheerful courage, and surrendering his cher- 
ished plans, he 'bravely undertook the care of the family. 
"■ In the course of the efforts which he expended on the 
accomplishment of this result," says Trevelyan, "he un- 
learned the very notion of framing his method of life with 
a view to his own pleasure ; and such was his high and 
simple nature that it may well be doubted whether it ever 
crossed his mind that to live wholly for others was a sac- 
rifice at all." His conduct in this emergency cannot be 
too much admired. It shows us that however great as a 
writer, Macaulay was still greater as a man. 

He entered the legal profession in 1826, but he had 
no liking for law, and got little practice. But his talents 



492 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

were generally recognized, and a wider career soon opened 
to him. In 1830 he entered Parliament and speedily took 
a foremost place. As a Whig, he warmly supported the 
Reform Bill of 1832. His first speech created little less 
than a sensation ; and afterward, says Gladstone, " when- 
ever he rose to speak, it was a summons like a trumpet- 
call to fill the benches." His perspicuous thought, his 
copious diction, and his vigorous utterance all gave him 
great power as a speaker. He was a hard worker, and 
throughout his political career he exhibited not only an 
incorruptible integrity, but also a self-sacrificing devotion 
to the welfare of his country. During this laborious 
period, in the spare moments gained by early rising, he 
wrote some of his best-known essays, among which are 
" Moore's Life of Lord Byron," " Samuel Johnson," "John 
Hampden," and *' Lord Burleigh." 

In 1834 Macaulay sailed for India as legal adviser to 
the Supreme Council. It was a sacrifice to leave his 
native country and well-earned fame ; but his new ofBce, 
which paid a salary of ten thousand pounds, brought him 
the means to provide better for those dependent upon 
him. He spent the long voyage in reading. " Except 
at meals," he said, '* I hardly exchanged a word with any 
human being. I devoured Greek, Latin, Spanish, Italian, 
French, and English." He was always an insatiable 
reader ; history, travels, novels, poetry — he devoured 
them all with but little discrimination. He possessed the 
uncommon faculty of " riding post " through an author ; 
and frequently mastered a volume during a morning's 
walk. As often happens with far less vigorous minds, 
books were allowed to take the place of reflection. To 



THOMAS BABINGTON MA CAUL AY. 493 

use the words of Gladstone, '' He was always conversing 
or recollecting or reading or composing ; but reflecting, 
never." 

Macaulay was a man of strong personality, of great 
good sense, and of indefatigable industry. In Calcutta, 
as in London, he accomplished, apart from his special 
office, a large amount of valuable work. As chairman of 
the Committee of Public Instruction, he exerted a decisive 
influence on the educational policy of India. Instead of 
encouraging Oriental learning, he maintained that '' the 
great object of the British government ought to be the pro- 
motion of European literature and science among the 
natives of India." During his four years' stay in India 
he wrote only two articles for the Edinburgh Review ; but 
one of these was the famous essay on '* Bacon." 

He returned to England in 1838. He seized upon the 
homeward voyage as a favorable opportunity to acquire 
German. "People tell me," he said, "that it is a hard 
language, but I cannot easily believe that there is a lan- 
guage which I cannot master in four months by working 
ten hours a day." He pursued the undertaking with 
his accustomed vigor ; and though we may well doubt 
whether he succeeded in mastering the German language 
in four months, he made sufficient attainments to read 
Goethe, Schiller, and Lessing. In his subsequent literary 
work, he seems to have made but little use of the German. 

A few months after his return, he left England for a 
tour in Italy. His familiarity with Latin and Italian liter- 
ature prepared him to enjoy in rich measure the historic 
associations of the country. He was sensitive to architec- 
tural beauty, and St. Peter's made a deep impression on 



494 



ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



him. " I really could have cried with pleasure," he wrote. 
He used this journey to verify the local coloring of his 
"Lays of Ancient Rome." '* I then went to the river," 
he wrote again, '' to the spot where the old Pons Sublicius 
stood, and looked about to see how my ' Horatius ' agreed 
with the topography. Pretty well ; but his house must be 
on Mount Palatine, for he could never see Mount Coelius 
from the spot where he fought." Accordingly, we read in 

the poem, — 

" But he saw on Palatinus 

The white porch of his home ; 

And he spake to the noble river 

That rolls by the towers of Rome." 

While visiting various points of interest in Italy he was 
meditating his "History of England." With his restless 
and inexhaustible energy, he soon tired of sight-seeing 
and longed to be at work again. Considerable time, how- 
ever, was to elapse before he could give himself fully to 
his " History." On his return to England, he was elected 
to Parliament as member for Edinburgh, and shortly 
afterward entered the cabinet as Secretary of War. Po- 
litical duties once more absorbed most of his time and 
effort. But in 1841 a change in the government gave him 
a welcome release from "that closely watched slavery 
which is mocked with the name of power." And though 
at intervals he held a seat in Parliament for the rest of 
his Ufe, his energies were henceforth chiefly devoted to his 
literary pursuits. 

It is time to consider more fully Macaulay's literary 
achievements. First in time, and if the popular estimate 
is to be taken, first in importance, are the " Essays." The 



THOMAS BABINGTON MACAU LAY. 495 

chief of these appeared in the EdiiibiirgJi Review between 
1825 and 1844. They cover a wide field and may be 
divided into two principal groups, — historical and critical. 
In English history we have the essays on "Burleigh," 
" Hallam," '' Hampden," "Temple," " Mackintosh," "Wal- 
pole," " Chatham," " Clive," and "Warren Hastings," which 
taken together give a tolerably complete view of the period 
between Elizabeth and George HI. Among the essays 
treating of continental history, " Machiavelli," "Mirabeau," 
" Frederic," and above all " Von Ranke," deserve special 
mention. The critical essays include, as will be seen, a 
considerable number of the most prominent English writ- 
ers : "Addison," "Bacon," " Bunyan," "Byron," "Dry- 
den," " Johnson," and " Milton." 

These " Essays " were produced in the vigor of early 
manhood, and most of them under the stress of a busy 
political life. Instead of constituting Macaulay's main 
vocation, they were little more than recreations. He 
wrote, to use his own expression, because his head was 
full. While lacking in critical acumen, judicial fairness, 
and indisputable accuracy, they display astonishing re- 
sources of diction, unequalled clearness of thought, and 
a masterful knowledge of history. Any absence of deli- 
cacy in touch is amply compensated by a spacious canvas 
and unstinted color. Macaulay may be fairly styled the 
Rubens of essayists. 

His style, about which so much has been said, is pre- 
eminently rhetorical and declamatory. It is better adapted 
to oral discourse than that of any other English author. 
It is essentially the same style that appears in his eloquent 
parliamentary speeches. It abounds in repetitions for the 



496 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

sake of clearness ; in tremendous emphasis of statement ; 
in a luxuriant expansion and illustration of ideas. Though 
natural to him, it has the appearance of being artificial. 
It surrenders its flexibility to the demands of a uniform 
rhetorical movement. It lacks the freedom and melody 
of the best forms of prose ; and in spite of its striking 
antitheses and its agreeable succession of long and short 
sentences, there is an unvaried sameness of tone that at 
length grows tiresome. While in Macaulay's hands it was 
capable of splendid results, it is not a style to be blindly 
imitated. 

His mind was quick, direct, and vigorous in its opera- 
tions. It soon caught the main outlines of a subject. 
With a few prominent points before him, Macaulay pro- 
ceeded to fill in his picture from the ample resources of 
his memory and imagination. There is an absence of 
gentle gradation and subdued tints. But whatever may 
be lacking in fine discrimination and exquisite delicacy, 
there is always an unfailing lucidity and impressive power. 

These considerations throw light on a serious and 
acknowledged failing. Macaulay is generally a partisan. 
While he was thoroughly honest at heart, and while he 
would have scorned to do any one intentional wrong, yet 
the clearness and impetuosity of his mental processes 
sometimes hurried him to unwarranted conclusions. He 
was deficient in judicial calmness and reserve. Hence, 
however interesting his treatment, and however imposing 
his assertions, it must be confessed that his conclusions 
are not always decisive and final. 

Macaulay lacked philosophic depth, but was sensitive to 
dramatic situation. He delighted m facts rather than in 



THOMAS BABINGTON MACAU LAY. 497 

principles. He preferred to describe events rather than 
to trace their underlying causes. It may be doubted 
whether he appreciated the subtile feeling of the finest 
poetry. In his literary criticism we miss a luminous inter- 
pretation of exquisite passages. He frankly admitted that 
criticisms like Goethe's " Hamlet " or Lessing's "■ Laocoon " 
were at once his admiration and despair. 

There are noted passages in his " Essays " that might 
be chosen to illustrate more or less fully the foregoing 
observations. The famous article on " Bacon " exhibits his 
lack of judicial fairness. The third paragraph of the 
essay on ''Von Ranke," in which he describes the an- 
tiquity of the Roman Catholic Church, shows his won- 
derful skill in expanding and impressing an idea. His 
description of the trial of Warren Hastings is a vivid 
and impressive picture. The following extract from the 
essay on "Samuel Johnson" will serve to illustrate at 
once his clearness, his force, his fondness for paradox, 
his exaggerated emphasis of statement, and his partisan 
attitude of mind : — 

" Many of the greatest men that ever lived have 
written biography. Boswell was one of the smallest of 
men that ever lived, and he has beaten them all. He 
was, if we are to give any credit to his own account or 
to the united testimony of all who knew him, a man of 
the meanest and feeblest intellect. Johnson described 
him as a fellow who had missed his only chance of im- 
mortality by not having been alive when the ' Dunciad ' 
was written. Beauclerk used his name as a proverbial 
expression for a bore. He was the laughing-stock of 
the whole of that brilliant society which has owed to 

2 K 



498 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

him the greater part of its fame. He was always laying 
himself at the feet of some eminent man, and begging 
to be spit upon and trampled upon. . . . Everything 
which another man would have hidden, everything the 
publication of which would have made another man hang 
himself, was matter of gay and clamorous exultation to his 
weak and diseased mind. . . . That such a man should 
have written one of the best books in the world is strange 
enough. But this is not all. Many persons who have 
conducted themselves foolishly in active life, and whose 
conversation has indicated no superior powers of mind, 
have left us valuable works. Goldsmith was very justly 
described by one of his contemporaries as an inspired 
idiot, and by another as a being — 

'Who wrote like an angel, and talked like poor Poll.' 

" La Fontaine was in society a mere simpleton. His 
blunders would not come in amiss among the stories of 
Hierocles. But these men attained literary eminence 
in spite of their weaknesses. Boswell attained it by 
reason of his weaknesses. If he had not been a great 
fool, he would never have been a great writer. ... Of 
the talents which ordinarily raise men to eminence as 
writers, Boswell had absolutely none. There is not in all 
his books a single remark of his own on literature, politics, 
religion, or society, which is not either commonplace or 
absurd. . : . Logic, eloquence, wit, taste, all those things 
which are generally considered as making a book valuable, 
were utterly wanting to him. He had, indeed, a quick 
observation and retentive memory. The'se qualities, if 
he had been a man of sense and virtue, would scarcely 



THOMAS BAB IN G TON MA CA ULA Y. 499 

of themselves have sufficed to make him conspicuous; 
but because he was a dunce, a parasite, and a coxcomb, 
they have made him immortal." 

Macaulay was not a poet, yet he pubUshed a slender 
volume of poems that have kept their place as a popular 
favorite. These are the " Lays of Ancient Rome," which 
were published in 1842. In the preface the author tells 
us that he speaks, not in his own person, but in the per- 
sons of ancient minstrels, who know only what a Roman 
citizen, born four or five hundred years before the Chris- 
tian era, may be supposed to have known, and who are 
in no wise above the passions and prejudices of their 
age and nation. In this way the legends of Horatius 
defending the bridge, of the battle of Regillus, of the 
slaying of Virginia, and of the prophecy of Capys are 
treated. Macaulay frankly acknowledges his indebted- 
ness to the old English ballad, to Scott, and above all to 
Homer. He reproduces the heroic spirit, and especially 
the patriotic devotion of the ancient Roman, in a manner 
deeply impressive. 

It is safe to say that the ballad is the only form of 
poetry in which Macaulay could have met with success. 
The ballad does not require the finest emotion nor the 
deepest thought. It is narrative in form, and its essential 
elements are clearness, rapidity, and force. In these quali- 
ties Macaulay was gifted in an eminent degree. His sub- 
jects were happily chosen. In the field of Roman history 
he was unusually versed, and his visit to Italy enabled him 
to perfect the topography of his poems. His great mas- 
tery of language took away the difficulties of rhyme, and 
his knowledge of prosody gave an almost faultless correct- 



500 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

ness to his metre. The "Lays" were kept under the file 
a long time, and the criticism of scholarly friends was in- 
voked. The simplicity and directness of the language are 
often admirable, as may be seen from the following stanza 
in ''Horatius," describing the destruction of the bridge : — 

^'- But with a crash like thunder 

Fell every loosened beam, 
And, like a dam, the mighty wreck 

Lay right athwart the stream ; 
And a long shout of triumph 

Rose from the walls of Rome, 
As to the highest turret-tops 

Was splashed the yellow foam." 

As a historian Macaulay is distinctly modern in his aims 
and methods. Instead of accepting traditional or legen- 
dary views, he goes to the original sources of information. 
Whatever fault may be found with some of his conclu- 
sions, his painstaking research is universally acknowledged. 
He shared the democratic tendency of his age, and in his 
" History" he attaches importance, not simply to the fate of 
jDrinces, but also to the life of the common people. " It 
will be my endeavor," he says in the first chapter of the 
" History of England," " to relate the history of the peo- 
ple as well as the history of the government, to trace the 
progress of useful and ornamental arts, to describe the 
rise of religious sects and the changes of literary taste, to 
portray the manners of successive generations, and not 
to pass by with neglect even the revolutions which have 
taken place in dress, furniture, repasts, and public amuse- 
ments." 

In several of his *' Essays " Macaulay has laid down his 



THOMAS BABINGTON MACAU LAY, 501 

theory of history. He would make it a combination of 
fact and fiction, of poetry and philosophy ; yet these ele- 
ments should be so presented as to make a truthful im- 
pression. He would combine the imagination of .Scott 
and the research of Hallam. In his essay on '' Machia- 
velli" he says: "The best portraits are perhaps those in 
which there is a slight mixture of caricature, and we are 
not certain that the best histories are not those in which a 
little of the exaggeration of fictitious narrative is judiciously 
employed. Something is lost in accuracy, but much is 
gained in effect. The fainter lines are neglected ; but the 
great characteristic features are imprinted on the mind 
forever." 

He aimed to give his " History of England " the charm 
of a historical romance. He followed the method of the 
historical novelist in the minute portrayal of incident, the 
careful delineation of character, and the dramatic arrange- 
ment of his narrative. '' I shall not be satisfied," he wrote, 
" unless I produce something which shall for a few days 
supersede the last fashionable novel on the table of young 
ladies." He realized his aim in producing a wonderfully 
successful work. But after all, his method, except in nar- 
row limits, is not practicable. Macaulay miscalculated his 
strength. It has been shown that the completion of his 
" History" as originally planned would have filled fifty vol- 
umes and occupied one hundred and fifty years in compo- 
sition. His five volumes narrate the events of only sixteen 
years — from 1685 to 1701. 

The "History of England," completed in 1855, exhibits 
the same general characteristics exemplified in the " Es- 
says." Its style is rhetorical, pellucid, and strong. It 



502 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

abounds in admirable descriptions of persons, places, and 
events. It has been styled, not unjustly, a veritable por- 
trait gallery. To use his own language, it invests ''with the 
reality of human flesh and blood beings whom we are too 
much inclined to consider as personified qualities in an 
allegory ; calls up our ancestors before us with all their 
peculiarities of language, manners, and garb ; shows us 
over their houses, seats us at their tables, rummages their 
old-fashioned wardrobes, explains the uses of their pon- 
derous furniture." But, at the same time, it frequently 
shows a partisan bias. In the multitude of details it sac- 
rifices a true perspective ; and throughout it all there is a 
singular lack of philosophic spirit. 

The closing years of Macaulay's life are not free from 
pathos. He had been a strong man physically, broad- 
shouldered and stout-limbed. He was blessed with a 
superabounding energy and spirit that made him the life 
of every company. But at last, in 1852, he was suddenly 
stricken with heart disease, which was soon followed by 
an incurable asthma. Thus to be shorn of his strength 
was a cruel blow. "I became," he says, "twenty years 
older in a week." 

But his sterling worth never showed itself to better ad- 
vantage than in the trials of broken health. He sustained 
his sufferings with a cheerful fortitude. He was faithful 
in every duty, whether public or private. He never lost 
his tender consideration for those about him. He faced 
death calmly, thinking chiefly of the sorrow of those whom 
he loved. The end came Dec. 28, 1859, ^^^^ "^ ^^^ days 
later he was laid to rest in the Poets' Corner of West- 
minster Abbey. "Absolutely without literary affectation," 



THOMAS BABINGTON MACAU LAY. 503 ^ 

to borrow the words of Justin McCarthy, " undepressed ■ 

by early poverty, unspoiled by later and almost unequalled \ 

success, he was an independent, quiet, self-relying man, '\ 

who, in all his noon of fame, found most happiness in the • 

companionship and the sympathy of those he loved, and 1 

who, from first to last, was loved most tenderly by those j 

who knew him best." ' 



504 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



CHARLOTTE BRONTE. 

Not long since an investigator made an inquiry as to 
the stature of people of genius. His tabulated statement 
of measurements indicates that people of genius are gen- 
erally either below or above the medium height. What- 
ever may be thought of this conclusion, it is certain that 
Charlotte Bronte might be adduced in confirmation of 
its truth. While she was one of the most highly gifted 
literary women of England, she was diminutive in form 
and fragile in health. But what she lacked in size and 
strength, she made up in force of will and persistency of 
effort. Genius has rarely achieved greater triumphs over 
unfavorable surroundings. 

In her novels she has portrayed her own character with 
great clearness. Forced by solitude and suffering to pro- 
longed introspection, she acquired a rare self-knowledge. 
She gazed steadily into the tragic depths of the human 
soul. She had but a limited acquaintance with literature 
and society. Her genius was singularly restricted in its 
materials. Hence her work is largely autobiographical ; 
it is her experience as contemplated in the light of a 
strong imagination. ''Jane Eyre," "Lucy Snowe," and 
even "The Professor" are Charlotte Bronte herself. She 
was of delicate mould; and whether she experienced joy 
or sorrow, it was in an intense degree. What has been 
said of her last work "Villette" may be justly applied to 
all her writings : " Out of the dull record of humble woes. 




After Chappel. Engraved by S. HoUyer. 



^C^— J7 ^-^ 




1 



CHARLOTTE BRO1VTJ&. 505 

marked by no startling episodes, adorned by few of the 
flowers of poetry, she created such a heart history as re- 
mains to this day without a rival in the school of English 
fiction to which it belongs." 

There are few lives that have been so sad. Her his- 
tory, it has been suggested, ought to be written in tears. 
Death early robbed her of a mother's care. Her school 
life, as depicted in the early chapters of "Jane Eyre," 
was characterized by harsh treatment, insufficient food, 
and enforced exposure to wet and cold. The dissipated 
habits of a loved and talented brother brought a con- 
stant care and humiliating sorrow. Her life as a gov- 
erness was scarcely better than a prolonged torture to 
her sensitive nature. Her efforts to estabhsh a school 
were an ignominious failure. Yet, in the midst of this 
clouded existence, her spirit continued to burn with 
quenchless fire; and out of her bitter trials she wrought 
a series of works which, by their beauty and depth and 
power, have gained a permanent place in our literature. 

Charlotte Bronte was born Apr. 21, 18 16, at Thornton, 
in Yorkshire. Her father, Patrick Bronte, was an Episco- 
pal clergyman of literary tastes, who was afterward, for 
more than forty years, settled in the living at Haworth. 
Though upon the whole an unambitious, estimable man, 
he was not devoid of eccentricities, and his authority in 
the home was exercised with severity. Her mother was 
a sensitive woman, of attractive appearance, and the let- 
ters written to her husband before marriage show that 
she was not without literary ability and culture. She died 
when Charlotte was five years old, and henceforth there 
was but little joy in the household. 



506 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

There were six children in all, Charlotte being the third. 
The parsonage at Haworth, a sufficiently commodious 
building, looked out on a graveyard near by and on 
extensive gloomy moors. The Yorkshire people, whose 
character is portrayed in ''Shirley," are independent, 
brusque, and thrifty. But, at the same time, they are apt 
to become obstinate, and when they believe their rights 
invaded, they do not hesitate to resort to lawless force. 
In the midst of these cheerless surroundings, and without 
congenial companionship, the Bronte children were driven 
back on themselves, and in their thought and manners 
exhibited an unseasonable maturity. They were grave, 
silent, studious, beyond their years. 

They received instruction from their father, who, along 
with the usual studies, discoursed to them on the political 
and religious questions that engaged his attention. They 
remained ignorant of the usual sports of childhood and 
never knew how to be merry. In 1824 the four older 
sisters entered the school for clergymen's daughters at 
Cowan's Bridge. Owing to their delicate constitution and 
precocious training, they were ill-adapted to the coarse 
fare and harsh discipline of the school. Charlotte always 
maintained the substantial correctness of the description 
of its brutalities which she has given in "Jane Eyre." 
The beautiful character of little Helen Burns is a por- 
trait of her oldest sister, Maria. In a few months after 
entering the school, the two older sisters Maria and Eliza- 
beth died, and Charlotte and Emily were taken home. 

For the next six years, dating from 1825, Charlotte re- 
mained at home, and, as the oldest of the children living, 
exercised over them a maternal care. The entire family 



CHARLOTTE BRONT&. 507 

had a remarkable penchant for writing, which, apart from 
the devouring of all sorts of books, constituted their prin- 
cipal amusement. After the domestic cares of the day 
were over, they were accustomed to assemble in the 
kitchen, where, seated at one table, they proceeded to 
compose stories, fairy tales, poems, and dramas. An 
astonishing amount of this childish manuscript, written 
in almost microscopic hand, has been preserved, and re- 
veals to us their precocious talents and their imaginative 
power. Upon the whole, Charlotte seems to have been 
the most gifted of the children ; and it was in the practice 
of these early years that she acquired the copious vocab- 
ulary and forcible style which distinguish her subsequent 
works. 

In 1 83 1 she entered a small boarding-school at Roe 
Head. Here she passed the next eighteen months in 
unwonted happiness. '' She looked a little old woman," 
says one of her schoolmates and dearest friends, '* so 
short-sighted that she always appeared to be seeking 
something, and moving her head from side to side to 
catch a sight of it. She was very shy and nervous, and 
spoke with a strong Irish accent. When a book was given 
her, she dropped her head over it till her nose nearly 
touched it, and when she was told to hold her head up, up 
went the book after it, still close to her nose, so that it was 
not possible to help laughing." She was ignorant of tech- 
nical grammar and geography; but her knowledge of 
Hterature, art, and politics was a matter of general aston- 
ishment. With an insatiable thirst for knowledge, she 
gave herself with great diligence to study. She seemed 
to grudge the time spent in necessary relaxation and play. 



508 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

But in spite of her extreme devotion to study, her oblig- 
ing amiability made her a favorite with her schoolmates, 
and her gifts in story-telling were a constant source of 
delight. It was at Roe Head that she found much of the 
character and incident worked up in " Shirley." 

In 1832 Charlotte returned home, where for the next 
three years she led a life of routine. " In the morning, 
from nine o'clock till half past twelve," she writes to a 
friend, '* I instruct my sisters and draw ; then we walk till 
dinner-time. After dinner I sew till tea-time, and after tea 
I either write, read, or do a little fancy-work, or draw, as I 
please. Thus, in one delightful though somewhat mo- 
notonous course, my life is passed." Her reading at this 
time covered a considerable field. She was exceedingly 
fond of Scott, in comparison with whose works she 
esteemed all other novels worthless. Hume and Rollin 
were her favorite historians. In biography she read John- 
son's " Lives of the Poets," Lockhart's " Life of Burns," 
Moore's " Life of Byron," and Boswell's " Life of John- 
son." But her principal authors were the poets, among 
whom she preferred Shakespeare, Milton, Scott, Byron, 
and Wordsworth. In the choice of books her rule was, 
" Adhere to standard authors and avoid novelty." 

In 1835, at the age of nineteen, she returned to Roe 
Head as teacher. Her labors there finally proved too 
much for her health, and after three years she returned 
to Haworth. When she had regained her usual strength, 
she became a governess ; but this employment was not 
suited either to her talents or tastes. She had little tact 
in amusing or managing children. While possessing un- 
common ability in the acquisition of knowledge, she had 



CHARLOTTE BRONT&. 



509 



no gifts in imparting it. She was not unconscious of her 
superior endowments ; and the supercilious treatment to 
which she was exposed from unrefined natures was an 
almost intolerable humiliation. 

The next step in her career was a period of study in a 
boarding-school at Brussels. She had formed the project 
of opening a school, and in preparation for it, she desired 
to improve her knowledge of French, especially in its col- 
loquial use. She spent two years in the pensiomiat of 
Monsieur Heger, and of her surroundings and experi- 
ences she has given a faithful picture in *'Villette" and 
"The Professor." She studied with indefatigable indus- 
try ; and some French themes, which have been preserved, 
show. not only a remarkable literary ability, but also ad- 
mirable attainments in the French language. As an 
ardent Protestant, she freely criticised Roman Catholic 
institutions. Nevertheless, the private confession to a 
priest, so graphically detailed in " Villette," was an actual 
occurrence. The story that she fell in love with Monsieur 
Heger, to whom she gave lessons in English, and from 
whom she received instruction in French, is probably with- 
out foundation. But there is no question that she greatly 
admired him; and in '' Villette " he is the original of Paul 
Emanuel. 

She returned to England in 1844, and endeavored to 
carry out her long-cherished purpose to open a school at 
the Haworth parsonage. Her efforts proved a failure. 
In spite of earnest efforts to secure pupils, not one ever 
came. Perhaps it was just as well; for about this time her 
brother Branwell, a young man of fine natural gifts, began 
to be a source of anxiety and care. He had fallen into 



5IO ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

habits of dissipation ; and at last he returned home, where, 
after causing his father and sisters indescribable humilia- 
tion and sorrow, he died in 1848, a victim to opium and 
whiskey. 

But humiliation and sorrow were not sufficient to extin- 
guish the literary impulse and ambition of Charlotte and 
her sisters, Emily and Anne. Perhaps they had recourse 
to the pen as a solace in their tribulation. At all events, 
the sisters discovered, in 1845, the poetic effort to which 
they had been secretly giving themselves, and, against the 
advice of friendly publishers, they resolved to risk a volume 
in print. It was issued at their expense in 1846, under the 
title, "Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell." These 
names were assumed partly to avoid publicity, and partly 
to escape the prejudice which the sisters believed to exist 
against female authors. The poetry is scarcely above me- 
diocrity ; and, as was to be expected, the volume proved a 
failure. The leading periodicals treated it coldly ; and in 
spite of advertising, the publisher sold only two copies in a 
year. 

Charlotte and her sisters, however, were not wholly dis- 
couraged. They each set about preparing a story in prose, 
for which alone their talents were suited. Emily wrote 
"Wuthering Heights" and Anne "Agnes Grey," both of 
which promptly found a publisher, but on terms somewhat 
impoverishing to the two authors. Charlotte's story was 
entitled "The Professor," a delightful book, the characters 
and incidents of which were taken chiefly from her life in 
Brussels. Strange to say, it failed, after repeated efforts, 
to find a publisher, and did not see the light till after the 
gifted writer's death. 



CHARLOTTE BRONT&. 51I 

"The Professor," as indeed all of Charlotte Bronte's 
works, is written in a spirit of realism. She explains the 
principles that guided her in its composition, as follows : " I 
said to myself that my hero should work his way through 
life as I had seen real living men work theirs ; that he 
should never get a shilling he had not earned ; that no sud- 
den turn should lift him in a moment to wealth and high 
station ; that whatever small competency he might gain, 
should be won by the sweat of his brow ; that before he 
could find so much as an arbor to sit down in, he should 
master, at least, half the ascent of the 'Hill of Difficulty ' ; 
that he should not even marry a beautiful girl or a lady 
of rank. As Adam's son he should share Adam's doom, 
and drain, throughout life, a mixed and moderate cup of 
enjoyment." But this realism, which has since so largely 
dominated fiction, was not at that time acceptable to the 
public taste, which still demanded what was thrilling, 
poetic, idealistic. 

While " The Professor" was rejected by a succession of 
publishers, its author's ability did not utterly escape recog- 
nition. She was encouraged to try her hand on a '' three- 
volumed novel," and in spite of previous discouragements 
she resolutely set to work. The result was her master- 
piece, "Jane Eyre," which was written in the midst of do- 
mestic distractions and sorrows. It appeared in 1847 3-^^^ 
at once occasioned a flutter of excitement in the literary 
circles of London. It was recognized as a work of unusual 
power ; and the timid, patient, determined little authoress 
awoke to find herself famous. 

"Jane Eyre " was published as the work of Currer Bell. 
The identity of the author at once became a matter of 



512 * ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

speculation, and the secret was not discovered till after 
the publication of her next work. The opinions expressed 
in the periodicals of the time furnish an amusing illustra- 
tion of the fallibility of criticism. A distinguished Ameri- 
can critic pronounced "Jane Eyre" the work of more than 
one hand and one sex, and a prominent English woman 
proved "upon irresistible evidence" that it was the work 
of a man. 

The style exhibits a direct and masculine vigor that 
places Miss Bronte among the masters of English prose. 
The leading characters, far from an ideal perfection, are 
portrayed with a deeply impressive realism. Some of the 
scenes are intensely dramatic, and the reader is carried 
forward with eager interest to the close. Unconventional 
in form and sentiment, its originality gave rise to some 
Carping criticism ; and in the preface to the second edition, 
which was speedily called for, the author took occasion to 
remind her readers that " Conventionality is not morality. 
Self-righteousness is not religion. To attack the first is 
not to assail the last. To pluck the mask from the face of 
the Pharisee is not to lift an impious hand to the Crown 
of Thorns." Though not without faults of conception, 
of taste, and of ignorance, "Jane Eyre" stands as one of 
the great impressive books of our century. 

" Jane Eyre " contains a brave word on the sphere of 
woman. Miss Bronte was an independent thinker, and 
she had the courage of her convictions. The agitation of 
recent years and the ever widening sphere of woman's 
activity would seem to confirm the truth of the following 
vigorous passage, which no doubt came as a shock to 
many a conservative reader on its first appearance : " It 



CHARLOTTE BRONT&. 513 

is in vain to say human beings ought to be satisfied with 
tranquilUty ; they must have action ; and they will make it 
if they cannot find it. Millions are condemned to a stiller 
doom than mine, and millions are in silent revolt against 
their lot. Women are supposed to be very calm gener- 
ally; but women feel just as men feel; they need exercise 
for their faculties and a field for their efforts as much as 
their brothers do ; they suffer from too rigid a restraint, 
too absolute a stagnation, precisely as men would suffer ; 
and it is narrow-minded in their more privileged fellow- 
creatures to say that they ought to confine themselves to 
making puddings and knitting stockings, to playing on the 
piano and embroidering bags. It is thoughtless to con- 
demn them, or laugh at them, if they seek to do more or 
learn more than custom has pronounced necessary for 
their sex." 

The next work of Miss Bronte was " Shirley," which 
appeared in 1849. It was written, one might say, in the 
valley of the shadow of death. Between its beginning and 
completion, her brother Branwell and her sisters Emily 
and Anne were called away. Her agony of soul is re- 
flected in its pages. Yet the occupation of writing it was 
a boon to her. *' It took me," she wrote, '' out of dark and 
desolate reality into an unreal but happier region." But 
it told injuriously on her health. "You can write nothing 
of value," she said, "unless you give yourself wholly to 
the theme ; and when you so give yourself, you lose appe- 
tite and sleep — it cannot be helped." 

The characters of " Shirley," as in Miss Bronte's other 
works, were taken from life. The heroine, Shirley 
Keeldar, was an idealized portrait of her sister Emily. 

2L 



514 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

Not a few of the most thrilling incidents — the night at- 
tack on the mill, the attempted assassination of the owner, 
the ■ cauterizing of the arm torn by a mad dog — were 
actual occurrences. The book was a faithful delineation 
of Yorkshire scenery and Yorkshire character. It was 
composed with extreme care and was generally regarded 
as worthy of the author of *'Jane Eyre." A few weeks 
after its publication, she spent some days in London, 
where among other literary celebrities she met Thackeray, 
and was "moved to speak to the giant of some of his 
shortcomings." But her retiring disposition shrank as 
much as possible from all unnecessary publicity. 

As her successive works appeared, she awaited and 
read with undue interest the reviews pubHshed in promi- 
nent periodicals. She recognized the superficiality and 
ignorance displayed in many of them ; but, at the same 
time, her sensitive nature prevented her from rising above 
them. Like most authors of serious purpose, she highly 
valued an intelligent and discriminating review. She was 
ready to avail herself of any suggestions that might im- 
prove her work. But then, as now, haste, incompetency, 
or self-interest frequently stripped criticism of any value 
whatever. 

The next several years were spent chiefly in the soli- 
tude of the Haworth parsonage. Feeble health added to 
her depression of spirits. The principal event to break 
the monotony of her life was the arrival of the postman. 
In addition to the letters from admiring readers of her 
books, she maintained a regular correspondence with a 
number of friends. She was a charming letter-writer ; 
and the letters preserved for us in Mrs. Gaskell's "Life 



CHARLOTTE BRONTA. 515 

of Charlotte Bronte," and still more fully in Shorter's 
''Charlotte Bronte and her Circle," reveal very fully not 
only her daily life, but also her character and her opinions 
on a great variety of subjects. Her genius as a writer was 
supported by a rare common sense. 

She received occasional calls from distinguished visitors, 
attracted to Haworth by her fame. She made brief visits 
to the homes of friends or to London ; but she never over- 
came her native repugnance to prominence or publicity. 
At the request of her publishers, she undertook another 
work ; but, owing to her interrupted health, it progressed 
slowly. Conscientious in her literary labors, she was sat- 
isfied only with the best she could do. Replying to an 
inquiry of her publishers, she wrote : *' It is not at all 
likely that my book will be ready at the time you mention. 
If my health is spared, I shall get on with it as fast as is 
consistent with its being done, if not well, yet as well as I 
can do it. Not one whit faster. When the mood leaves 
me (it has left me now, without vouchsafing so much as a 
word or a message when it will return), I put by the MS. 
and wait till it comes back again. God knows I some- 
times have to wait long — very long it seems to me." 

The work in question was ''Villette," which was pub- 
lished in 1853 and enthusiastically received. It is based 
on her Belgian experiences. It is defective in plot, the 
interest shifting from one set of characters to another. 
The fate of the hero, Paul Emanuel, is left somewhat 
ambiguous. But in spite of artistic blemishes, it is de- 
lightful for its reality and truth. There are few authors 
who would have discovered so much interest and character 
in the everyday life of a boarding-school. 



5l6 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

''Villette" was the last of Miss Bronte's works. She 
was not a proHfic author ; her Uterary work is comprised 
in four volumes written in twice as many years. No 
doubt her early death cut her off from other literary 
achievements ; but it is questionable whether she would 
have produced anything to add to her fame had she lived 
to a ripe old age. In her four novels she pretty thor- 
oughly exhausted the materials at her command. Any 
subsequent works would probably have lacked in fresh- 
ness. "Jane Eyre" and "Shirley" embodied her obser- 
vation and experience in England ; " The Professor " and 
" Villette," not without virtual repetition, reflected her life 
abroad. Thus, without being voluminous, her writings 
attained a well-rounded completeness. 

Her books do not yield the highest pleasure to those 
readers who seek in fiction ideal characters and ideal inci- 
dents. She is not to be classed with the romantic school 
of fiction. She adheres closely to reality as she has seen 
and experienced it. Her books owe their enduring charm 
to their profound truthfulness. She wrote from the treas- 
ures of an acute observation and from the depths of a 
passionate heart, without concerning herself about conven- 
tional forms. Her works, in their depth and sincerity of 
feeling, appeal to the primal sympathies of human nature. 

The sorely tried life of Charlotte Bronte was not to 
close without a brief taste of happiness. In the evening 
of her life the sky, for a brief space, became radiant. 
After rejecting, in her earlier years, several suitors who 
had been attracted by her rare gifts and noble character, 
she was married in 1854 to her father's curate, Arthur 
Bell Nicholls, a man worthy of her esteem and love. In 



I 



CHARLOTTE BRONTA. 517 

" Shirley," before the days of courtship, she had paid him 
a tribute in the character of Mr. Macarthey : *' He labored 
faithfully in the parish; the schools, both Sunday and day 
schools, flourished under his sway like green bay trees. 
Being human, of course he had his faults ; these, however, 
were proper, steady-going, clerical faults." 

Her husband had not loved her for the literary ability 
she had exhibited or for the literary fame she had achieved. 
He preferred that she should give up her literary pursuits 
in her devotion to domestic and social duties. With the 
self-sacrificing spirit that characterized her whole life, she 
yielded for a time to her husband's wishes. She assis'ted 
him in his parish work and seemed to find a new pleasure 
in it. But at last the literary impulse became too strong, 
and she began a new story entitled " Emma," which she 
did not live to complete. 

The months that followed her marriage were the hap- 
piest of her Hfe. To use her own words, she did *' not 
want now for kind companionship in health and the ten- 
derest nursing in sickness." A great calm seemed to fall 
upon her life, and she was observed to exhibit a gentle 
tenderness not noticeable before. But the larger and 
happier life upon which she had entered was not to con- 
tinue. The end came in a few months. Early on the 
morning of March 31, 1855, the Haworth church bell an- 
nounced her death to villagers who had known her from 
childhood and had proudly rejoiced in her success. 

" Of the multitude that have read her books," says 
Thackeray in a generous tribute, *' who has not known 
and deplored the tragedy of her family, her own most sad 
and untimely fate } Which of her readers has not become 



5 1 8 ENGLISH LITER A TURE. 

her friend ? Who that has known her books has not ad- 
mired the artist's noble English, the burning love of truth, 
the bravery, the simplicity, the indignation at wrong, the 
eager sympathy, the pious love and reverence, the pas- 
sionate honor, so to speak, of the woman ? What a story 
is that of that family of poets in their solitude yonder on 
the gloomy northern moors ! " 




Photograph alter painting by Samuel Laurence 




luut 



ru^ 



M 



WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. 519 



WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. 

Many parallels have been drawn between Thackeray 
and Dickens, the two greatest novelists of their day. 
Both attained great popularity ; yet in character, methods 
of work, and attitude toward life, they were very differ- 
ent. In place of Thackeray's almost feminine timidity, 
Dickens had a virile self-confidence and determination. 
In place of Thackeray's distrust of himself and the world, 
Dickens had an invincible confidence in both. In place 
of Thackeray's irresolution and unsystematic methods of 
work, Dickens was resolute and regular in a marked 
degree. In place of Thackeray's satirical attitude, which 
made him dwell chiefly on the shams and foibles of life, 
Dickens dwelt chiefly on the good to be found in human 
nature, even in its most degraded forms. Of the two, it 
is needless to say that Dickens has been the more popular ; 
but it would be rash to say that he was the greater intel- 
lect or better artist. 

The name of Thackeray is an old one in England, 
traceable beyond the date when French was still the 
official language of the country. The family seemed to 
have a talent for religion and many of its members were 
clergymen in the EstabHshed Church. William Make- 
peace, the subject of this sketch, was born in Calcutta, 
July 18, 181 1, where his father held a position under the 
Indian government. His mother is spoken of as " one of 



520 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

the handsomest old ladies in the world." She lived to see 
her son become distinguished, surviving him by a year. 

While a child Thackeray was brought to England, and 
placed in Charter House School. The head-master was 
unsympathetic, and its rude manners were distasteful to 
his sensitive nature. He was not an example of youthful 
precocity ; and though he had some popularity among the 
boys, he detested the place, and was accustomed for many 
years to refer to it as Slaughter House. Sparring and 
cricket seem to have been his principal acquisitions. In 
his last year at the school he wrote to his mother : 
"There are but 370 in the school. I zuish tJiere were only 
3^9-' The only intimation at this time of his literary 
gifts was found in his faculty for writing humorous verse. 

In 1829 Thackeray entered Trinity College, Cambridge, 
where he spent only one year. The glimpses we get of 
his life there are not displeasing. He was a leading spirit 
in a literary society, several members of which afterward 
rose to distinction in the church. He did not distinguish 
himself in the prescribed studies of the College, but read 
a great deal in English poetry, and in the old novelists, 
of whom he chose Fielding as his model. He was suffi- 
ciently prominent in social life, giving and receiving his 
share of dinners. His literary tastes and talents began 
to manifest themselves more* strongly. He was connected 
with an undergraduate periodical called The Snob, for 
which he wrote a burlesque of Tennyson's prize poem on 
"Timbuctoo": — 

" In Africa — a quarter of the world — 
Men's skins are black ; their hair is crisp and curled ; 
And somewhere there, unknown to public view, 
A mighty city lies, called Timbuctoo.'" 



WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. 52 1 

In 1830 Thackeray left Cambridge without a degree; 
but his sojourn there had not been in vain. Apart from 
his enlarged acquaintance with books, and his still larger 
acquaintance with men, he laid there the foundation of 
his literary taste and style. The loose and romantic 
manner of Dickens became impossible to him. He de- 
veloped the severe self-restraint that belongs to the classic 
spirit. His style is characterized by clearness, flexibility, 
and force ; and it may be fairly claimed that he is the 
most classic of all our novehsts. 

After leaving the University, he spent some months 
in travel on the Continent. He visited Paris, Rome, 
Dresden, and Weimar, entered largely into the life of 
the people, and thus broadened his knowledge and his 
sympathies. He spent several months at Weimar, where 
he met Goethe. ''I think," he wrote in after years, "I 
have never seen a society more simple, charitable, courte- 
ous, gentleman-like, than that of the dear little Saxon 
city where the good Schiller and the great Goethe lived 
and lie buried." He preferred Schiller to Goethe, and 
"believed him to be, after Shakespeare, the Poet." He 
for a time thought of translating Schiller; but this, like 
many other great projects of his, was destined not to be 
realized. 

After returning to England, Thackeray began the study 
of law. As with so many other men of literary instincts, 
it proved distasteful. He found difficulty in bringing 
himself down to the necessary toil. In " Pendennis " he 
has given us a picture of the plodding and the idle law- 
student, and dwells on the losses and limitations of the 
diligent toiler. '* He could not cultivate a friendship, or 



522 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

do a charity, or admire a work of genius, or kindle at the 
sight of beauty or the sound of a sweet song — he had 
no time and no eyes for anything but his law books. All 
was dark outside his reading lamp. Love and nature and 
art (which is the expression of our praise and sense of 
the beautiful world of God) were shut out from him. 
And as he turned off his lonely lamp at night, he never 
thought but that he had spent the day profitably, and 
went to sleep alike thankless and remorseless." This 
may be taken as an ingenious defence of his own lack 
of diligence. 

When he became of age, he had a comfortable fortune of 
twenty thousand pounds and an income of five hundred a 
year. This he speedily lost, partly through gambling with 
sharpers, and partly through unfortunate newspaper enter- 
prises. Forced to earn a livelihood for himself, he turned 
to art and went to Paris to find a home for himself and his 
mother. He bore his reverses philosophically and after- 
ward turned them to literary account. Writing to his 
mother in December, 1833, he says: *' I have been very 
comfortably installed in the new house for ten days and 
Uke much my little study and airy bedroom. I am sure 
we shall be as happy here as possible ; and I believe 
that I ought to thank Heaven for making me poor, as 
it has made me much happier than I should have been 
with the money." He became an artist of some skill 
and in subsequent years was accustomed to illustrate 
his own writings. 

But the man who is born to write will write. In a year 
or two we find him again in London, doing whatever work 
he could for the papers. In 1835 he is recognized among 



WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. 523 

the contributors to Frasers Magazine, with which he re- 
mained connected for a dozen years. The " Memoirs of 
Yellowplush," which contains the observations of a foot- 
man in many genteel famiUes, appeared in 1837. It is a 
satire, in which the '* orthogwaphy is inaccuwate," but the 
diction none the less telling. The author's own expe- 
rience no doubt furnished the basis of the story of. Mr. 
Dawkins, who was fleeced out of his fortune by Mr. 
Deuceace. There is probably an autobiographic touch in 
the remonstrance of the footman, who says, when his 
master, in recognition of his talent, is about to dismiss 
him : " Don't send me away. I know them littery chaps, 
and, believe me, I'd rather be a footman. The work's 
not so hard — the pay is better ; the vittels incompyrably 
supearor." 

The next story of any length was " Catherine," which was 
intended to satirize Bulwer, Ainsworth, and even Dickens 
for throwing a factitious charm around blackguards and 
criminals. It is written under the name of Ikey Solomons : 
" Be it granted, Solomons is dull ; but don't attack his mo- 
rality ; he humbly submits that, in his poem, no man shall 
mistake virtue for vice, no man shall allow a single senti- 
ment of pity or admiration to enter his bosom for any char- 
acter of the piece ; it being from beginning to end a scene 
of unmixed rascality performed by persons who never 
deviate into good feeling." 

But more important than either of the foregoing tales 
was *' The History of Samuel Titmarsh and the Great 
Hoggarty Diamond," which came out in Fraser in 1841. 
Though it did not attract great attention, and the editor 
made the disagreeable suggestion that it be curtailed, it 



524 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

possesses much interest, and illustrates, within brief com- 
pass, the leading characteristics of Thackeray's manner. 
Its main purpose is to expose the villany of bubble com- 
panies, and to exhibit the methods by which rural inexpe- 
rience is imposed upon. It concludes with the sensible 
advice " never to embark in any speculation, of which the 
conduct is not perfectly clear, and of which the agents 
are not perfectly open and loyal." 

Other contributions to Fraser were, *' Fitz-Boodle's Con- 
fessions," "Men's Wives," and "Barry Lyndon." They 
are all satires on the weaknesses, blunders, and sins of 
life. Thackeray had an almost morbid hatred of humbug 
and pretentiousness, and was never weary of girding at 
them. In the first chapter of " Mr. and Mrs. Frank 
Berry," in " Men's Wives," there is a description of 
Thackeray's fisticuff at Charter House, which resulted in 
a broken nose and permanent disfigurement. The most 
important of this group of works is " Barry Lyndon," in 
which a sharper, liar, and villain is made to give a me- 
moir of himself. In spite of his unbroken series of villa- 
nies, his energy and valor call forth some measure of 
sympathy. 

The consideration of the Fraser contributions has car- 
ried us far beyond an important event in Thackeray's life. 
This was his marriage, which took place in 1836. For 
three or four years he found strength and happiness 
in his domestic relations. His nature craved woman's 
tenderness. It was during these years, as we have seen, 
that he laid the foundations of his great literary fame. 
Then came a misfortune worse even than death. The 
health of his wife gave way, and it became necessary to 



WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. 525 

place her in a private asylum. Henceforth, he worked 
without the encouragement of a cheerful home and with 
a heavy sorrow in his heart. 

In 1843 Thackeray became connected with PtincJi, to 
which he contributed for the next nine or ten years. He 
continued the same admirable vein of satire. The first of 
his contributions was " The Lucky Speculator" — a ser- 
vant who, beginning with twenty pounds, acquired a for- 
tune speculating in stocks, and who, in the flood-tide of 
his prosperity, cut his former friends and affected the 
fashionable gentleman. The story is told in extracts 
from his diary. The portrayal of snobbery is admirable. 
The hero fell in love with a noble lady, Angelina, for 
whom, as he tells us, his ''pashn hogmented daily. " "I 
gave went to my feelings," to quote from the diary, "in 
the following lines. . . . She was wobbling at the py- 
anna as I hentered. I flung the convasation upon mew- 
sick; said I sung myself; and on her rekwesting me to 
favor her with somethink, I bust out with my pom : — 

"When moonlike on the hazure seas 

In soft effulgence swells, 
When silver jews and balmy breaze 

Bend down the lily's bells ; 
When calm and deap, the rosy sleap 

Has lapt your soul in dreems, 
R Hangeline, R lady mine ! 

Dost thou remember Jeames ? " 

Another admirable satire, appearing in Pimch, was 
" Novels by Eminent Hands," in which the pecuHarities 
and weaknesses of Bulwer, DisraeH, Cooper, and others 
are amusingly caricatured. The best of these satires is 



526 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

"Codlingsby," in which the manner of Disraeli is taken 
off, and *'The Stars and Stripes," in which Cooper's style 
is imitated. But more important than either " The Lucky 
Speculator" or ** Novels by Eminent Hands" was ''The 
Book of Snobs," which relentlessly pursues snobbery in 
every class of society. The author professes to have *' an 
eye for snobbery" — a gift for which he felt "an abid- 
ing thankfulness." But his satirical vein sometimes car- 
ries him too far; and his eye for snobbery was so keen 
that he occasionally discerned it where it does not exist. 
Among the most delightful of his burlesques is '' Rebecca 
and Rowena," a sequel to Scott's " Ivanhoe," in which 
Thackeray corrects what he regarded as the unjust treat- 
ment of the Jewish maiden. 

The year 1847 niarks a turning point in Thackeray's 
literary career. Up to this time, in spite of the admirable 
work he had done, he remained comparatively unknown. 
His great contemporary Dickens had fairly distanced him 
in popularity and fame. Only a few recognized his excep- 
tional power. He chafed somewhat under this neglect, 
and thought for a time of working up a reputation through 
the puffing system ; but his sterling sense of honor soon 
put aside the temptation. " Puffs are good," he wrote to 
a friend, ** and so is the testimony of good men ; but I 
don't think these will make a success for a man, and he 
ought to stand as the public chooses to put him." But 
the time had now come for him to receive the recognition 
to which his brilliant gifts entitled him. 

In the year last mentioned, he began the publication of 
"Vanity Fair" in monthly numbers. After a few months 
its success was assured. Mrs. Carlyle wrote to her hus- 



WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. 527 

band after getting the first four numbers, ''Very good, 
indeed ; beats Dickens out of the world." The Edinburcrh 
Review praised the novel, placing its author among the 
most remarkable of current writers. But most significant 
and valuable of all were the words of Charlotte Bronte in 
her preface to "Jane Eyre." " I think I see in him," she 
says, " an intellect profounder and more unique than his 
contemporaries have yet recognized. . . . His wit is bright, 
his humor attractive, but both bear the same relation to 
his serious genius that the mere lambent sheet-lightning 
playing under the edge of the summer cloud, does to the 
electric death-spark hid in its womb." From this time on 
he was recognized as a great man and honored by every 
class of society. 

''Vanity Fair," which its author regarded as his best 
work, is a masterpiece of fiction, though it departs from 
the usual canons of novel-writing. In his lectures on the 
"English Humorists," Thackeray said: "I suppose, as 
long as novels last and authors aim at interesting their 
public, there must always be in the story a virtuous and 
gallant hero, a wicked monster his opposite, and a pretty 
girl who finds a champion ; bravery and virtue conquer 
beauty ; and vice, after seeming to triumph through a 
certain number of pages, is sure to be discomfited in 
the last volume, when justice overtakes him and honest 
folks come by their own. There never was, perhaps, a 
greatly popular story but this simple plot was carried 
through it." With the audacity of genius, Thackeray 
departed in "Vanity Fair" from this conventional and 
popular type. It is a novel without a hero. Though 
Dobbin has many admirable traits of character, his part 



528 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

among the dramatis personcs is subordinate. Becky Sharp 
is the heroine ; but she is the embodiment, not of all femi- 
nine loveliness, but of unprincipled shrewdness. 

In constructing a work of fiction, the novelist may 
adopt any one of three methods : he may describe what 
is romantic or extravagant in character and incident ; he 
may depict ideal or poetic personages and conditions ; 
or he may adhere strictly to reality, portraying men 
and events as they actually exist. Thackeray adopted 
the last method and may be justly regarded as the 
prince of English realists. At the same time, he did 
not aim to portray life in its fulness ; and with his in- 
tense dislike of sham and villany, he made the false 
and sinful side of society most prominent in his works. 
In "Vanity Fair" he warns his readers that he is "going 
to tell a tale of harrowing villany." To many persons 
it is depressing. We can easily understand why Thack- 
eray's children used to say to him, " Papa, why don't 
you write books like Mr. Dickens } " But after a large 
acquaintance with life has taught us something of its 
shams and villanies, "Vanity Fair" becomes a delight- 
ful book, holding the mirror up to the darker side of 
society. 

Thackeray's next great novel was " Pendennis," the 
first number of which appeared in 1848, a few months 
after the conclusion of "Vanity Fair." It contains a 
larger autobiographic element than any of his other 
writings. Arthur Pendennis, the hero, " is a very good- 
natured, generous young fellow," he once wrote, "and I 
begin to like him considerably. I wonder whether he 
is interesting to me for selfish reasons, and because I 



WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. 529 

fancy we resemble each other in many points, and 
whether I can get the pubUc to like him too." It 
fairly rivals its predecessor in interest. Thackeray was 
not usually happy in his portrayal of good women. As 
with Amelia in ''Vanity Fair," their goodness is not 
supported by a corresponding wisdom. But in '' Pen- 
dennis " we find an exception : Laura Bell is capable 
and clever as well as good — entirely too bright and 
good, some persons think, for the very faulty hero, 
Arthur Pendennis. 

In the original preface to " Pendennis " the author 
defends his realistic method. He mildly censures the 
public for preferring what is unreal to what is true. He 
declares that it is not his purpose to idealize his char- 
acters with Raphaelistic touches. " You will not sym- 
pathize," he says substantially, "with this young man of 
mine, this Pendennis, because he is neither angel nor imp. 
If it be so, let it be so. I will not paint for you angels 
or imps, because I do not see them. The young man of 
the day, whom I do see, and of whom I know the inside 
and the out thoroughly, him I have painted for you ; and 
here he is, whether you like the picture or not." 

Thackeray has often been accused of being a cynic, but 
the accusation is hardly just. No one had a kinder heart 
and a larger charity for the weaknesses of men. While 
his experience and his observation made him feel keenly 
the evils in life, he has not portrayed them with the bit- 
terness of the cynic. The closing words of ''Pendennis" 
reveal to us the spirit with which he wrote : " If the best 
men do not draw the great prizes in life, we know it has 

been so settled by the Ordainer of the lottery. We own, 
2 M 



530 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

and see daily, how the false and worthless live and pros- 
per, while the good are called away, and the dear and 
young perish untimely — we perceive in every man's life 
the maimed happiness, the frequent falling, the bootless 
endeavor, the struggle of right and wrong, in which the 
strong often succumb and the swift fail ; we see flowers 
of good blooming in foul places, as, in the most lofty 
and splendid fortunes, flaws of vice and meanness, and 
stains of evil ; and, knowing how mean the best of us is, 
let us give a hand of charity to Arthur Pendennis, with 
all his faults and shortcomings, who does not claim to 
be a hero, but only a man and a brother." 

"Henry Esmond," which appeared in 1852, is com- 
monly regarded as the best of Thackeray's novels, though 
it was rather coldly received at the time of its publication. 
George Eliot pronounced it an "uncomfortable book," and 
even Charlotte Bronte thought it contained "too much 
history and too little story." The author bestowed great 
labor on " Henry Esmond." The period of the story 
is the a2:e of Oueen Anne, and a number of historical 
characters, including Steele and Addison, are introduced. 
The style is in perfect keeping with the times described, 
and the incidents of the story are so naturally inter- 
woven with the historical events that the earlier half of 
the eighteenth century is made to live again before us. 
It is a great historical novel — one of the greatest in our 
language. The tone of the book is one of disappointment 
and sadness. " And yet," to use the words of Trollope, 
" there is not a page in the book over which a thoughtful 
reader cannot pause with delight. The nature in it is true 
nature." 



WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. 53 1 

Thackeray wrote two other novels that rank among his 
principal works, "The Newcomes," which appeared in 
1855, and *'The Virginians," which appeared in 1859. 
The former is a sequel to " Pendennis," and the latter to 
"Henry Esmond." "The Virginians" is not a closely 
woven story, and as a whole is lacking in interest. But 
"The Newcomes" deserves a place by the side of the 
author's two or three greatest works. It exhibits his usual 
melancholy and satirical vein. Colonel Newcome is one 
of his most admirable creations, and the death-bed scene 
is a notable passage for its simple pathos : " At the usual 
evening hour the chapel bell began to toll, and Thomas 
Newcome's hands outside the bed feebly beat time. And 
just as the last bell struck, a peculiar sweet smile shone 
over his face, and he lifted up his head a little, and quickly 
said, ' Adsum ! ' and fell back. It was the word we used 
at school, when names were called ; and lo, he, whose 
heart was as that of a little child, had answered to his 
name, and stood in the presence of the Master." 

Before his last great works were written, Thackeray had 
taken to lecturing, to which he was impelled not so much 
by natural inclination as by financial need. He began his 
career as a lecturer in 185 1, with a course of six lectures 
on "The English Humorists," among whom he included, 
besides a few others. Swift, Addison, Steele, Pope, and 
Goldsmith. The subject was a thoroughly congenial one, 
and the general treatment is sympathetic and delightful. 
He speaks of the men and their lives rather than of their 
books, and makes humor mean more than the power of 
exciting laughter. " The humorous writer," he says, " pro- 
fesses to awaken and direct your love, your pity, your 



532 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

kindness, — your scorn for untruth, pretension, imposture, 
— your tenderness for the weak, the poor, the oppressed, 
the unhappy." In this sense Thackeray himself deserves 
to rank among the greatest of EngUsh humorists. 

Unhke Dickens, who was perfectly at ease before an 
audience, Thackeray was painfully timid. He could not 
think of appearing in public without trepidation. His first 
course was attended by the world of fashion. Charlotte 
Bronte, who was present at the lecture on Congreve and 
Addison, admirably characterized their matter and deliv- 
ery : "They are a sort of essays, characterized by his own 
peculiar originality and power, and delivered with a fin- 
ished taste and ease, which is felt but cannot be described." 

it 

After delivering the lectures in the principal cities of 

England, Thackeray came to America in the latter part 
of 1852. He looked at American life with very kindly 
eyes, and enjoyed, as he wrote, the rush and restlessness. 
Naturally, the "lion business night after night" became 
irksome to him ; but he was pleased with the enthusiastic 
reception he generally received. Three years later he 
visited this country again and delivered his " Four 
Georges." These lectures are not historical treatises, but 
personal sketches set in the social life of the times. Filled 
with striking incident and anecdote, they give an interest- 
ing glimpse of the period of the Georges, and were re- 
ceived in America with even more favor than " The 
English Humorists." They were afterward delivered in 
the principal cities of England, but with less applause. 

Though Thackeray can hardly be regarded as a poet, 
he was a versifier of uncommon skill. Like his prose 
works, his poems are mostly humorous and satirical ; but 



WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. 533 

at the same time there is an undertone of seriousness and 
pathos running through them. The "Sorrows of Wer- 
ther," a satire on Goethe's romance of the same name, is 
well known : — 

" Werther had a love for Charlotte 
Such as words could never utter ; 
Would you know how first he met her? 
She was cutting bread and butter." 

" The End of the Play " is one of the best of his more 
serious poems, breathing a pathetic sadness. '' The Cane- 
Bottomed Chair " was the author's favorite ballad ; but in 
no other poem has he put so much of his feeling in regard 
to life as in *' Vanitas Vanitatum " : — 

" O vanity of vanities ! 

How wayward the decrees of fate are ; 
How very weak the very wise, 

How very small the very great are! 

" Though thrice a thousand years have past, 
Since David's son, the sad and splendid, 
The weary King Ecclesiast, 

Upon his awful tablets penned it, — 

" Methinks the text is never stale. 
And life is every day renewing 
Fresh comments on the old, old tale 
Of folly, fortune, glory, ruin.'" 

In 1857 Thackeray made an effort to secure a seat in 
Parliament, but was defeated. Two years later the Corn- 
hill Magazi7ie was established under his editorial manage- 
ment. He gathered about him a large number of able 
contributors, and the Magazine was a success from the 



534 ENGLISH LITERATURE, 

start. More than one hundred thousand copies of the 
first number were sold. In this periodical appeared 
the stories of *' LoveJ the Widower" and "The Adven- 
tures of Philip," neither of which is up to the standard of 
Thackeray's best work. The most interesting of his con- 
tributions to the CoriiJiill was the " Roundabout Papers," 
essays in which his imaginative and moralizing faculties 
were allowed free play. They are delightful papers, re- 
vealing the more playful and amiable side of his nature. 
There are many autobiographic touches. *' Perhaps of all 
the novel-spinners now extant," he says in playful refer- 
ence to his manner of writing, '' the present speaker is the 
most addicted to preaching." 

Beneath the heavy cares and sorrows of life, Thackeray 
had aged prematurely. He died on Christmas eve, 1863, 
and lies buried in Kensal Green Cemetery. A plain stone, 
bearing his name and the date of his birth and death, miarks 
his resting place ; a greater monument is found in his im- 
perishable works. His nature was deeply religious, and 
he seems to have remained untouched by the doubts so 
prevalent in this century. He looked upon death as a 
friend. "A just man summoned by God," he once wrote, 
" for what purpose can he go but to meet the Divine love 
and goodness .? " 











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CHARLES DICKENS. 535 



CHARLES DICKENS. 

JUST how much a man owes to the age in which he 
happens to be born, it is difficult to determine. But what- 
ever genius he may possess, it is certain that to a greater 
or less degree he is influenced and moulded by his sur- 
roundings. No account of an author's life and work is 
complete without a consideration of his environment. 
This consideration shows us something of the nature of 
his attainments, the source of his material, and the char- 
acter of the public he addresses. 

Dickens was fortunate in coming upon the stage at 
an opportune moment. The brilliant Victorian Age had 
scarcely begun. Shelley, Keats, Byron, Coleridge, Lamb, 
were names of the past ; and that mighty constellation of 
Victorian writers — Carlyle, Macaulay, Tennyson, Brown- 
ing, and others — was just appearing above the horizon. 
In the realm of fiction particularly, there was a void. 
Scott had lain in his tomb five years ; and in spite of the 
partial success of Bulwer and Disraeli, no one had been 
found worthy to take his place. At such a time did Dick- 
ens appear upon the scene to become for many years the 
acknowledged prince of novelists. 

Charles Dickens, the second in a family of eight chil- 
dren, was born in Portsea, Feb. 7, 18 12. His father 
was at that time a government clerk connected with the 
Portsmouth dockyard. He was, according to his son's 



536 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

testimony, industrious and conscientious in the discharge 
of business, and "as kind-hearted and generous a man as 
ever lived in the world." But thrift was not one of his 
virtues. With an increasing family and accumulating 
debts, he moved* to London when his son was two years 
old, and not long afterward to Chatham. His wife was 
a woman of some accomplishments, but without much 
practical wisdom and force of character. 

The experiences of the family at this period and after 
their return to London have been immortalized in " David 
Copperfield." To have a complete record, it is only 
necessary to substitute John Dickens for the easy-going 
Mr. Micawber. Even the " Boarding Estabhshment for 
Young Ladies " is not a fiction ; but unfortunately for the 
welfare of the family no pupils ever came, and the house 
was visited only by a growing number of inexorable 
creditors. At last the elder Dickens was thrown into 
the Marshalsea prison for debt, where he moralized in 
much the same strain as Micawber. With tears he con- 
jured his son " to take warning by his fate, and to observe 
that if a man had twenty pounds a year for his income, 
and spent nineteen pounds nineteen shillings and sixpence 
he would be happy, but that if he spent twenty pounds 
one he would be miserable." 

At Chatham the young Charles had been sent to school, 
where he showed decided literary tastes. He once said 
of himself that he had been " a writer from a mere baby, 
an actor always." His father had collected a little library, 
in which the precocious boy was able to gratify his taste 
for reading. He had a greedy relish for books of voyage 
and travel ; but those which exerted the greatest influence 



CHARLES DICKENS. 537 

upon him were works of fiction. They appealed to his 
active imagination. Among the books read at this time 
were the works of the older novelists : '' Roderick Ran- 
dom," " Hmnphrey Clinker," "Tom Jones," "The Vicar 
of Wakefield," "Don Quixote," "Gil Bias," and "Robin- 
son Crusoe." He entered into the deepest sympathy with 
the leading characters, and emulated their deeds of adven- 
ture and heroism. It is not strange that thus early he 
cherished the ambition to become " a learned and dis- 
tinguished man." 

In 1 82 1 the family removed from Chatham to London, 
and the trials of the young Charles began. The family 
finances went from bad to worse. At the age of ten the 
bookish, imaginative boy was placed in a blacking ware- 
house, where he pasted labels on bottles for six or seven 
shillings a week. Neglected by his parents, thrown with 
rude companions, and subject to many hardships, he felt 
a strong sense of degradation. Years afterward he wrote 
of this sorrowful time : "How much I suffered, it is utterly 
beyond my power to tell. ... I know that but for the 
mercy of God, I might easily have been, for any care that 
was taken of me, a little robber or a little vagabond. My 
whole nature was so penetrated with grief and humiliation 
of such considerations, that even now, famous and caressed 
and happy, I often forget in my dreams that I have a dear 
wife and child, and wander desolately back to that time 
of my life." But more than he ever realized, perhaps, 
this experience was valuable to him. Out of the trials 
of this period he was storing up treasures of character 
and incident, of which he afterward made golden use. 

A fortunate legacy, at the end of a few months, enabled 



538 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

the elder Dickens to get out of the debtors' prison ; and 
Charles, released by a timely quarrel from the drudgery 
of the blacking warehouse, was sent in 1824 to Wellington 
House Academy. It was a school of the old style, which 
he did so much in later years to render impossible in 
England. The head-master's chief qualification was 
dexterity in the use of the cane, and he furnished more 
than one trait for Mr. Creakle. Charles did not bring 
away from the school any great store of classic learning. 
He always lamented his defective education. But with- 
out knowing it, he got what for him was better than book 
learning. He enriched his experience with the humors 
and characters of the school. Whatever may have been 
his success as a student, his literary gifts were recognized 
among his comrades, and he was looked up to as a writer 
of tales and a leader in amateur theatricals. 

His school life lasted only a year or two. It then be- 
came necessary for him to think of earning his bread. 
In 1827 he entered a solicitor's office on a salary of thir- 
teen shillings and sixpence a week. Here he had a new 
field of observation, which he turned to good account. 
He not only acquainted himself with the technicalities of 
courts and law, but also enriched his mind with a store 
of characters and incidents relating to the legal profes- 
sion. But his ambition was not satisfied with the drudg- 
ery of a clerkship ; and at the end of eighteen months, 
stimulated by the example of his father who had become 
parliamentary reporter for one of the London papers, he 
resolved to become a reporter too. 

He was at this time about seventeen and character- 
ized by an indomitable will and a determination "if he 



CHARLES DICKENS. 539 

did anything at all, to do it with his might." He threw 
himself into his new career with great energy. Short- 
hand then, even more than at the present time, was a 
difficult art, and he spent many weary months in diligent 
practice before offering himself as a skilled reporter. 
He soon discovered that his lack of general reading was 
a serious obstacle to his success, and with dauntless 
courage he set about supplying this deficiency by con- 
stant attendance at the British Museum. Of the many 
hardships of these days he has given us a charming 
description in an address delivered at a public dinner 
some two years before his death. *' I have often tran- 
scribed for the printer," he said, "from my shorthand 
notes important public speeches, in which the strictest 
accuracy was required, and a mistake in which would 
have been, to a young man, severely compromising, writ- 
ing on the palm of my hand, by the light of a dark lan- 
tern, in a post-chaise and four, galloping through a wild 
country, and through the dead of night, at the then sur- 
prising rate of fifteen miles an hour. . . . Returning home 
from excited political meetings in the country to the wait- 
ing press in London, I do verily believe I have been 
upset in almost every description of vehicle known in 
this country. I have been, in my time, belated in miry 
by-roads, toward the small hours, forty or fifty miles 
from London, in a wheelless carriage, with exhausted 
horses and drunken postboys, and have got back in time 
for publication, to be received with never-forgotten com- 
pliments." 

We have now reached the time when Dickens at last 
found his true vocation, for which, unconsciously to himself, 



540 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

all his previous experience, and particularly his newspaper 
training, had specially fitted him. In December, 1833, his 
first literary sketch was " dropped stealthily, with fear and 
trembling," to use his own words, ''into a dark letter-box, 
in a dark office, up a dark court in Fleet Street." It was 
accepted, and "appeared in all the glory of print." He 
was so filled with pleasure and pride, he tells us, in pur- 
chasing a copy of the Magazine in which it was published, 
that he went into Westminster Hall to hide the tears 
of joy that would come into his eyes. The paper which 
he thus described, was subsequently published in the 
" Sketches by Boz," as " Mr. Minns and his Cousin." 

Encouraged by this success, Dickens continued for the 
next year or two to write stories and sketches for The Old 
Monthly Magazine and for The Eveimig Chronicle. They 
were then republished in a volume, for which the author 
received two hundred and fifty pounds. The " Sketches " 
reveal the extraordinary power of Dickens as an observer, 
and contain clear intimations of his future greatness. 
"London — ^^its sins and sorrows, its gayeties and amuse- 
ments, its suburban gentilities and central squalor, the 
aspects of its streets, and the humors of the dingier classes 
among its inhabitants — all this had certainly never been 
so seen and described before." 

While continuing his duties as reporter, Dickens began 
the work that was quickly to establish his reputation and 
to confirm him in a literary career of astonishing fruitful- 
ness and success. In a later preface to the book, he tells 
us how " Pickwick " came to be written. It was proposed 
by the publishers that he should write something to accom- 
pany monthly illustrations by the caricaturist Seymour. 



CHARLES DICKENS. 54 1 

He consented on condition that he was to have control of 
the story, and that the illustrations should rise naturally 
from its characters and incidents. The first number of the 
" Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club " appeared in 
March, 1836. At first the success of the story seemed 
doubtful ; but after the fifth number, in which Sam Weller 
appeared, it grew rapidly in popularity. In a few months 
the sale of the successive numbers jumped from a few 
hundred to forty thousand, and "Pickwick" was recog- 
nized as the most popular novel of its day. 

*' Pickwick " has remained one of its author's most popu- 
lar books. In several particulars it illustrates his peculiar 
methods and powers. Though possessed of no small de- 
gree of dramatic talent, Dickens does not often make use 
of elaborate plots. He is preeminently a novelist of inci- 
dent. He places before us graphic scenes rather than 
profound studies. His characters are vividly drawn, but 
generally with the exaggeration of caricature. He has a 
dominant but kindly sense of humor, which, less refined 
than that of a Lamb or Irving, is exhibited most frequently 
in absurd characters and ridiculous situations. Besides all 
this, there is found in '* Pickwick " an abounding and con- 
tagious vitality, which constitutes one of the great charms 
of the book. 

An etching by Carlyle, who met Dickens at a dinner 
party, brings before us his personal appearance and man- 
ner at this time. " He is a fine little fellow — Boz, I think. 
Clear, blue, intelligent eyes, eyebrows that he arches 
amazingly, large protrusive rather large mouth, a face of 
most extreme mobility, which he shuttles about — eye- 
brows, eyes, mouth, and all — in a very singular manner 



542 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

while speaking. Surmount this with a loose coil of com- 
mon-colored hair, and set it on a small compact figure, very 
small, and dressed a la U Orsay rather than well — this is 
Pickwick. For the rest, a quiet shrewd-looking little 
fellow, who seems to guess pretty well what he is and 
what others are." 

Two days after the appearance of the first number of 
" Pickwick " Dickens married Catharine Hogarth, the 
daughter of a fellow-worker on the Chronicle, He began 
his wedded life modestly, taking his bride to his bachelor 
quarters in Furnival's Inn, much after the manner of 
Tommy Traddles in '' David Copperfield." But as his in- 
come increased, he occupied more comfortable lodgings, 
till at last he purchased Gad's Hill Place as his permanent 
home, and so fulfilled a resolution of his ambitious child- 
hood. For a number of years his domestic relations were 
happy enough. He delighted in his children. '' He never 
was too busy," his daughter tells us, " to interest himself 
in his children's occupations, lessons, amusements, and gen- 
eral welfare." But later there came an unfortunate 
change ; and after twenty years of wedded life, the un- 
happy pair agreed to separate. It was a case of incom- 
patibility of temper, which neither had the strength to 
overcome or the patience to bear. 

During the next few years after the success of " Pick- 
wick," the amount of work Dickens accomplished is amaz- 
ing. While writing the successive numbers of '' Pickwick," 
he assumed the editorship of Beittley s Miscellany, and 
began at once the publication of "Oliver Twist." Early 
in 1838, and simultaneously with ''Oliver Twist," he issued 
the first numbers of "Nicholas Nickleby." Besides these 







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CHARLES DICKENS. 543 

three masterpieces, he wrote several plays, none of which, 
however, added to his fame. "Oliver Twist," one of the 
most interesting of our author's works, was written to por- 
tray the criminal side of London life. " It appeared to 
me," he says, "■ that to draw a knot of such associates in 
crime as really did exist; to paint them in all their de- 
formity, in all their wretchedness, in all the squalid misery 
of their lives ; to show them as they really were, forever 
skulking uneasily through the dirtiest paths of life, with 
the great, black, ghostly gallows closing up their prospect, 
turn them where they might — it appeared to me that to 
do this, would be to attempt a something which was 
needed, and which would be a service to society." It is a 
strong piece of realism, in which the glamour sometimes 
thrown around crime is ruthlessly torn away. 

" Nicholas Nickleby " was likewise written with a pur- 
pose. It was intended to expose the cruelties practised in 
certain Yorkshire schools, and to awaken sympathy for 
the unhappy victims. So thoroughly had Dickens ac- 
quainted himself with the scene of the story that the origi- 
nal of Dotheboys Hall was identified without difficulty. 
The book hit its mark, and as a result of the exposures it 
made, and of the public interest it aroused, the class of 
schools attacked was in large measure reformed. 

His methods of work, as followed at this period, are not 
without interest. His favorite time for writing was the 
morning, though when heavily pressed he labored far into 
the night. He worked with intense concentration. When 
weary with mental exertion, he sought recreation in abun- 
dant physical exercise. At first riding — fifteen miles out 
and fifteen miles in — was his favorite means, but soon he 



544 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

became an indefatigable pedestrian and perambulated 
London in all directions. He frequently walked twenty 
or thirty miles at a stretch. His favorite time for walk- 
ing was at night, when the great city seemed to possess a 
fascination for him. He never grew tired of it, and looked 
at in this light, the opening pages of "Old Curiosity Shop" 
have an autobiographic interest. 

In 1840 Dickens began the publication of a weekly 
periodical, Master Humphrey s Clock, containing essays, 
short stories, and miscellaneous papers. It started with a 
sale of seventy thousand copies. But the public was dis- 
appointed, and Dickens saved the enterprise from failure 
by beginning the publication of " Old Curiosity Shop." 
The heroine of this novel is Little Nell, the original of 
whom was Mary Hogarth, a younger sister of the author's 
wife. She had won a large place in his heart as the ideal 
of feminine loveHness. Of all the children Dickens has 
portrayed (and he had a rare sympathy with the humor 
and pathos of childhood). Little Nell has been the fav- 
orite. The pathos of her story has won all hearts ; even 
Jeffrey, the savage editor of the Edinburgh Review, paid 
her the tribute of tears. 

After " Old Curiosity Shop " came " Barnaby Rudge," 
which was published also in weekly instalments in 1841. 
It is one of the two historical novels which Dickens es- 
sayed, the other being "A Tale of Two Cities," which is 
connected with the French Revolution. Many of the 
scenes of " Barnaby Rudge " are laid among the No 
Popery Riots of 1780. It describes these riotous scenes 
in words of blood and fire. But the book did not afford 
ample scope for the author's pathos and humor; and, in 



CHARLES DICKENS. ^ 545 

spite of its interest, it is generally regarded as one of his 
least characteristic works. 

During this period of great literary activity Dickens's 
passion for travelling became very strong. While at work 
he taxed his nervous energies to the utmost, and therefore 
felt, from time to time, the need of rest and recreation. 
He also desired, no doubt, to enrich his experience by see- 
ing new countries and new manners. He wandered over 
nearly every part of England and made trips to the Con- 
tinent. In 1 84 1 he was invited to Edinburgh, where he 
was given the freedom of the city and almost over- 
whelmed with hospitalities. Early the following year, in 
company with his wife, he embarked for America, where 
he spent four months in visiting the principal cities. At 
a great public dinner in New York Washington Irving 
welcomed him as " the guest of the nation." But the 
young republic did not make a favorable impression upon 
him. " It is of no use," he wrote to a friend, "I am dis- 
appointed. This is not the republic I came to see; this 
is not the republic of my imagination." 

A few months after his return to England he gave the 
public his impressions of our country in " American Notes," 
and a year or two later in " Martin Chuzzlewit," one of his 
strongest books. In spite of the princely inception that 
had been accorded him, his criticism and satire of Ameri- 
can life were severe and unjust. In "Martin Chuzzlewit," 
in particular, he portrayed some of its cruder features in 
a harsh and unfriendly spirit, which justly gave offence. 
Dickens himself afterward recognized the injustice of his 
attack; and on his second visit to the United States, 
twenty-five years later, he spoke of the astonishing strides 

2 N 



546 ENGLISH LITERATURE 

our country had made in wealth and culture, and acknowl- 
edged that his impressions of an earlier time had been 
extreme and unjust. 

During the intervals of *' Martin Chuzzlewit " Dickens 
wrote in 1843 "The Christmas Carol," a story that was 
at once acknowledged to be a masterpiece. The first 
edition of six thousand copies was sold on the day of 
publication. Nothing better of its kind has ever been 
done. It exhibits our author's great gifts — his humor, 
his simple pathos, his bright, poetic fancy, and his sym- 
pathy with the down-trodden — at their best. The next 
best of his Christmas stories is ''The Cricket on the 
Hearth." 

For some reason Dickens's popularity at this period 
seemed to wane. There was a large falling off in the 
sale of " Martin Chuzzlewit " ; and as he had been living 
in a liberal style, he found himself in financial difficulties, 
from which, to use his own words, he suffered " intolerable 
anxiety and disappointment." Under these circumstances 
he resolved to spend some time on the Continent with his 
family, where he could live more economically ; and ac- 
cordingly, in 1844, he went to Genoa, and afterward vis- 
ited the other principal cities of Italy. His sojourn 
abroad was not marked by great literary activity ; but 
the ringing of the numerous bells of Genoa suggested to 
him the Christmas story called "The Chimes." He re- 
turned to London the following year, and became editor 
of a new daily. The News, which has since had a vigorous 
growth. But the engagement proved a mistake, and after 
three weeks he tendered his resignation. But he still con- 
tinued for a time to write for it, and in its columns first 



I 



CHARLES DICKENS. 547 

appeared his excellent letters of travel called " Pictures of 
Italy." 

Not long after his release from editorial work, he again 
went to the Continent, this time establishing himself at 
Lausanne. At this place, in a villa that did not belie its 
name of Rosemont, he began another great work, " Dom- 
bey and Son." But the grandeur of Alpine scenery could 
not supply the inspiration that came to him in the me- 
tropolis of England. '' The toil and labor of writing, day 
after day," he said, ''without the magic lantern of the 
London streets, is immense!'' After finishing three 
parts of " Dombey and Son," he went to Paris, where 
he spent three months, living on terms of friendly inter- 
course with Dumas, Hugo, Lamartine, and Chateaubriand. 
" Dombey and Son " was completed in London and 
published in 1848. Its purpose is to expose the vice 
of pride, and in its originality and force it deserves 
to rank among our author's best works. No small part 
of its beauty and pathos is due to the character of little 
Paul. 

The five years beginning with 1847 ^^y be reckoned 
the happiest and busiest of Dickens's life. His inimitable 
addresses on public occasions brought him into closer re- 
lations with the people, while his " splendid strolling " at 
the head of an amateur theatrical troupe won him fresh 
applause. As an actor and manager he possessed remark- 
able ability and was recognized as the life of the whole 
company. The proceeds of the entertainments given by 
the troupe were devoted to benevolent objects. In 1850 
his long-cherished desire to conduct a successful periodical 
was realized in Household Words. *' We hope," he wrote. 



548 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

"to do some solid good, and we mean to be as cheery and 
pleasant as we can." 

In ''David Copperfield," which was completed in 1850, 
Dickens may be said to have reached the culmination of 
his career as a writer. In no other work has he attained 
so high a degree of artistic excellence. Its autobiographic 
element is an additional source of interest. " Of all my 
books," Dickens declares, ** I like this the best. It will 
be easily believed that I am a fond parent to every child 
of my fancy, and that no one can ever love that family as 
dearly as I love them. But like many fond parents, I 
have in my heart of hearts a favorite child — and his name 
is David Copperfield." 

We cannot follow Dickens further in his work as a 
novelist. Other great works were to be produced, — 
"Bleak House," "Little Dorrit," "Tale of Two Cities," 
" Our Mutual Friend," and others, — but none of them in- 
creased his fame. They lacked, to a greater or less degree, 
the abounding humor and vitality of his earlier books. 
His intense and protracted labors, together with domestic 
discomforts, began to tell on his health. A morbid rest- 
lessness came upon him. " I am become incapable of 
rest," he wrote to a friend. " I am quite confident that I 
should rust, break, and die, if I spared myself. Much 
better to die, doing." His roving spirit became stronger 
than ever; and in 1855, speaking of a contemplated trip, 
he humorously described himself as " going off, I don't 
know where or how far, to ponder about I don't know 
what." The closing years of his life were filled with rest- 
less activity. 

Though he had previously given readings for benevolent 



CHARLES DICKENS. 549 

objects, Dickens began his career as a professional reader 
in 1858. His readings were eminently successful, adding 
largely both to his fame and fortune. Wherever he went, 
large crowds were anxious to see and hear the distinguished 
novelist. He prepared for his readings with almost infi- 
nite care, rehearsing scores of times and studying every 
intonation and gesture. His flexible voice, his fine per- 
sonal presence, and above all his unusual dramatic gifts, 
made his entertainments unique. He was a whole theatre 
in himself. Carlyle, who once went reluctantly to hear 
him, felt constrained to say : " Dickens does it capitally, 
such as it is ; acts better than any Macready in the world ; 
a whole tragic, comic, heroic theatre visible, performing 
under one hat, and keeping us laughing — in a sorry way, 
some of us thought — the whole night." His readings in 
America during the winter of \%6j-\%6Z brought him the 
enormous sum of nearly one hundred thousand dollars. 

The last years of his life were marked by failing strength. 
His reading tours drew heavily upon his physical energies, 
apd a serious railroad accident, in which he nearly lost his 
life, shattered his nerves. But he toiled on with heroic 
courage, his indomitable will triumphing over bodily in- 
firmity. Among intimate friends he sometimes exhibited 
the boyish gayety of earlier years. In the autumn of 1869 
he began the novel of " Edwin Drood," which he was des- 
tined never to finish. The end came suddenly June 9, 
1870, in his home at Gad's HilL His body was quietly 
laid to rest in Westminster Abbey, among those who by 
word and deed have done most to make England and 
English literature. The last day of his life he wrote : 
" I have always striven in my writings to express venera- 



5 so ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

tion for the life and lessons of our Saviour — because I 
feel it." In this faith he lived and died. 

As a novelist, Dickens followed a large and diffuse 
method. He lacked the severe self-restraint that belongs 
to the classic spirit. His scenes and characters are almost 
exclusively confined to the lower half of society ; and when 
he has attempted to portray a higher type of manhood 
and womanhood; he has generally failed. But these and 
other defects that have been pointed out in the course of 
this sketch are so heavily counterbalanced by prevailing 
excellences that we can afford to ignore them. In spite of 
caricature, many of his characters are genuine creations, 
whose doings and sayings are quoted with the tacit assump- 
tion that they are familiar to every one. Who can forget 
Pickwick, or Mr. Micawber, or Bill Sikes, or a score of 
others } Dickens is always pure and true in his moral 
feeling. He never confounds vice and virtue, nor loses 
sight of the great truth that ** the wages of sin is death." 
He had a wide human sympathy, which discovered, even 
in the lowest outcast, some remaining spark of goodness. 
''This humane kinship with the vulgar and the common," 
says Frederic Harrison, **this magic which strikes poetry 
out of the dust of the streets, and discovers the traces 
of beauty and joy in the most monotonous of lives, is, in 
the true and best sense of the term, Christ-like, with a 
message and gospel of hope." 

We may venture to predict that the future of Dickens 
is secure. He wished no other monument than his 
works, and they are likely to prove an enduring one. 
With the changing taste of each generation, and with 
the growing intensity of life, he will not be so extensively 



CHARLES DICKENS. 55 I 

read in the future as in the past. Perhaps no other novel- 
ist, except Scott, has ever been so popular. But a few of 
his works, at least, will no doubt continue to live ; and a 
hundred years from now people will laugh over Pickwick 
and sympathize with David Copperfield. 



I 



552 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 




GEORGE ELIOT. 

George Eliot did not begin to write novels, upon which 
her fame chiefly depends, till she had reached the full ma- 
turity of her intellectual powers and had garnered a rich 
store of observation and experience. She was thirty-eight 
when her first story was pubhshed. Her novels do not 
belong to what she calls, in one of her review articles, " the 
mind and millinery species," which is described as ''frothy, 
prosy, pious, or pedantic." Gifted with a large and pene- 
trating mind, she was a profound student of the human 
soul ; and few other writers, even among the very greatest, 
have sounded lower depths. She was deeply impressed by 
the ethical significance of Hfe, and everywhere discerned 
the same tragedy of hunger and labor, sin and suffering, 
love and death. Unlike the silly novelists whom she 
criticised in the article referred to, she chose to portray 
ordinary life in its deeper thought and feeling; and her 
method, to express it in a single phrase, is that of psycho- 
logic realism. 

Mary Ann Evans (for George Eliot was but her nom 
de plume^ was born in Warwickshire, Nov. 22, 18 19. 
Her mother was an earnest-minded woman, solicitous 
for the moral and reHgious welfare of her children, and 
endowed with a notable readiness and sharpness of tongue. 
Her father, a farmer and surveyor, was a man of sound 
judgment and wide reputation for integrity of character. 



^?^vi^- .-vt.- 







C (Krrrji^ 




n 



GEORGE ELIOT. 553 

" He raised himself from being an artisan," says his 
daughter, " to be a man whose extensive Icnowledge in 
very varied practical departments made his services valued 
through several counties." The local scenery familiar to 
her in childhood she has accurately depicted in " Scenes 
from Clerical Life " and in " The Mill on the Floss." 

In her earliest school days she cared but little for books. 
She and her brother Isaac, who furnish the prototypes of 
Maggie and Tom Tulliver in '* The Mill on the Floss," 
were always together. But after her tenth or twelfth 
year, she became fond of her studies and developed an 
unusual capacity for acquiring knowledge. She became a 
great reader and eagerly devoured Scott, Lamb, and De- 
foe. In a letter written in 1838, she speaks of a serious 
fault into which her thirst for knowledge had betrayed 
her : " I am generally in the same predicament with books 
as a glutton with his feast, hurrying through one course 
that I may be in time for the next, and so not relishing or 
digesting either." 

At Coventry she spent three years in a school that was 
pervaded by a deeply religious atmosphere. This influ- 
ence, together with the religious training of her home, 
left a deep impression on her character. She devoted 
much time to works of charity, visiting the poor and pro- 
viding for their needs. After the death of her mother, in 
1836, the care of her father's house fell upon her. She 
became an adept in butter-making, stood " sentinel over 
damson cheese and a warm stove," and disciplined her fin- 
gers to the skilful use of the needle. 

But with all her charitable and domestic duties, she still 
found time for reading and study. She familiarized her- 



554 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

self with no fewer than six languages, namely, Latin, 
Greek, Hebrew, French, Italian, and German. Her read- 
ing covered a wide field. In a letter written in 1839 she 
says : " My mind presents an assemblage of disjointed 
specimens of history, ancient and modern, scraps of poetry 
picked up from Shakespeare, Cowper, Wordsworth, and 
Milton ; newspaper topics ; morsels of Addison and Ba- 
con, Latin verbs, geometry, entomology, and chemistry ; 
reviews and metaphysics, all arrested and petrified and 
smothered by the fast-thickening anxiety of actual events 
and household cares and vexations." With untiring dili- 
gence she laid a broad foundation for her subsequent 
work. 

From letters written at this period of her life, we get a 
clear insight into the peculiar temperament and charac- 
ter of George Eliot. She was distrustful of self, felt a 
continual need of sympathy, and longed to be helpful to 
others. " In her moral development," says her husband 
and biographer Cross, "she showed, from the earliest 
years the trait that was most marked in her through Hfe, 
namely, the absolute need of some one person who should 
be all in all to her, and to whom she should be all in all. 
Very jealous in her affections, and easily moved to smiles 
or tears, she was of a nature capable of the keenest enjoy- 
ment and the keenest suffering ; ' knowing all the wealth 
and all the woe ' of a preeminently exclusive disposition. 
She was affectionate, proud, and sensitive in the highest 
degree." 

In 1 841 George EUot's father moved to Foleshill, on 
the outskirts of Coventry. This turned out an event of 
great importance in her life. Here she made the acquain- 



GEORGE ELIOT. 555 

tance of the Brays, whose house was a centre for the radi- 
cal Hterary and reHgious thought of that region. Emerson, 
Froude, and other men of mark were guests from time to 
time. In this atmosphere of free-thinking and scepticism 
George EHot abandoned the reUgious behefs of her earUer 
years and, with something of a proselyte's zeal, attacked 
the current theology and its representatives. For a time 
her religious convictions remained unfixed ; she passed 
from rationahsm to pantheism, and finally settled down 
into a religion of toleration and humanity. She rejected 
all supernaturalistic belief and maintained that the su- 
preme duty of life is to do good to our fellow-men. 

In 1873, when on a visit to Cambridge, she gave full ex- 
pression to the beliefs of her later years. " I remember," 
says Mr. Frederick Myers in a passage of great beauty, 
" how, at Cambridge, I walked with her once in the Fel- 
lows' Garden of Trinity on an evening of rainy May ; and 
she, stirred somewhat beyond her wont, and taking as her 
text the three words which have been used so often as the 
inspiring trumpet-call of men, — the words God, Immor- 
tality, Duty, — pronounced with terrible earnestness how 
inconceivable was the first, how unbelievable the second, 
and yet how peremptory and absolute the third. Never, 
perhaps, have sterner accents affirmed the sovereignty of 
impersonal and unrecompensing Law. I listened, and 
night fell, her grave, majestic countenance turned toward 
me Hke a sibyl's in the gloom ; it was as though she with- 
drew from my grasp, one by one, the two scrolls of prom- 
ise, and left me the third scroll only, awful with inevitable 
fates. And when we stood at length and parted, amid 
that columnar circuit of the forest trees, beneath the last 



556 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

twilight of starless skies, I seemed to be gazing, like Titus 
at Jerusalem, on vacant seats and empty halls — on a 
sanctuary with no Presence to hallow it, and heaven left 
lonely of a God." 

At an early age George Eliot showed an inclination for 
writing. In 1840 a poem of hers was published, and soon 
afterward she engaged in preparing a chart of ecclesiastical 
history. But her first important literary work was a trans- 
lation of Strauss's " Leben Jesu," the purpose of which 
was to eliminate the miraculous element of the Gospel 
narrative. It required more than two years to complete 
the task, which at length grew irksome by reason of her 
serious disagreement at times with the German theologian. 
She received but little money for her labor, but the work 
of translation was helpful in disciplining her faculties into 
scholarly accuracy of thought and expression. 

In 1849 her father died. She felt his loss most keenly, 
and a week after the funeral sought relief in a trip to 
the Continent. She visited France and Italy and then 
took up her abode in Geneva. She lodged in the house 
of Albert Durade, a humpbacked artist of great refine- 
ment, who probably suggested Philip Wakem in " The Mill 
on the Floss." His portrait of George Eliot is the most 
pleasing likeness of her that we possess. Her health was 
not good, but she continued her indefatigable reading and 
study. "I take walks," she wrote^ ''play on the piano, 
read Voltaire, talk to my friends, and just take a dose of 
mathematics every day to prevent my brain from becom- 
ing quite soft." Her sojourn at Geneva marks a turning- 
point in her life ; for henceforth we find greater fixity of 
purpose and deeper consciousness of power. 



i 



GEORGE ELIOT. 557 

After an absence of eight months, she returned to Eng- 
land and shortly afterward became associate editor of 
the Westminster Review. The choice and arrangement 
of articles fell chiefly upon her. She complained of the 
heavy burden of her editorial work, which left her but 
little time for writing. She prepared only a few articles, 
— '' Worldliness and Other- Worldliness," " German Wit," 
'' EvangeUcal Teaching," and others, — which exhibit much 
learning and force ; but there is sometimes a lack of judi- 
cial calmness and tolerant amiability. She had not yet 
learned the broad sympathy and large tolerance that 
belonged to her later hfe. 

Her connection with the Westminster Revieiv brought 
her into contact with some of the ablest advanced thinkers 
of her time. Among her friends she numbered Carlyle, 
Harriet Martineau, Lewes, Herbert Spencer, and others. 
Herbert Spencer, with whom her relations were very cor- 
dial, was the first to discover her genius for fiction. A still 
deeper attachment sprang up between her and George H. 
Lewes, a man of bright and genial nature, whose wife had 
abandoned him. When he found it impossible to secure 
a divorce, George Eliot entered into a conjugal relation 
with him without the usual sanction of church and state. 
This bold and irregular step cost her the respect and con- 
fidence of many friends. But leaving aside its unfortu- 
nate irregularity, the union turned out singularly helpful 
and happy ; and in the confidence and encouragement of 
her husband George Eliot found a much needed stimulus 
in her work. 

Immediately after their union, in 1854, the venturesome 
pair went to Germany, where they spent eight months at 



558 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

Weimar and Berlin in congenial studies. After returning 
to England George Eliot continued her review writing. 
In an article entitled "The Natural History of German 
Life," she laid down the realistic principle that was after- 
ward to govern her own artistic productions. *' Art is 
the nearest thing to Ufe ; it is a mode of amplifying ex- 
perience and extending our contact with our fellow-men 
beyond the bounds of our personal lot. All the more 
sacred is the task of the artist when he undertakes to 
paint the Ufe of the people. Falsification here is far more 
pernicious than in the more artificial aspects of life. It 
is not so very serious that we should have false ideas 
about evanescent fashions, about the manners and con- 
versation of beaux and duchesses ; but it is serious that 
our sympathy with the perennial joys and struggles, the 
toil, the tragedy, and the humor in the life of our more 
heavily laden fellow-men should be perverted and turned 
toward a false object instead of the true one." 

The time had now come for her to enter upon a wider 
literary career and to exemplify her profound conceptions 
of the novelist's art. For years she had cherished the 
purpose of trying her hand at fiction. She was encour- 
aged by Lewes to begin, though he was not entirely con- 
fident of her success. ''You have wit, description, and 
philosophy," he used to say to her, "and these go a good 
way toward the production of a novel. It is worth while 
for you to try the experiment." In the fall of 1856 she 
wrote "Amos Barton," the first story in " Scenes of Cleri- 
cal Life." The scenery, incidents, and characters were 
taken from her childhood recollections. The story was 
sent to Blackwood, who enclosed :i check for fifty guineas. 



GEORGE ELIOT. 559 

*'It is a long time," he wrote, " since I have read anything 
so fresh, so humorous, and so touching." Very sensitive 
to praise or blame, George Eliot felt encouraged by the 
success of her first venture, and soon added to the same 
series "Mr. Gilfil's Love Story " and ** Janet's Repentance." 

In " Scenes from Clerical Life " we discover the distin- 
guishing features of George Eliot's work. Lacking in 
dramatic power, she aimed at a truthful portrayal of 
character rather than an exciting train of incident. She 
is a novelist of the soul, as Dickens is of manners. The 
prevailing tone of her work is one of sadness. Weakness, 
error, and sin are allowed, as in actual life, to bring forth 
failure and suffering. The background of her own nature 
was shrouded in gloom. Though her sceptical opinions 
are carefully repressed, they cast a shadow over her work ; 
and with one or two exceptions we are apt to rise from a 
perusal of any of her books with a feeling of depression. 

She was content to reveal the tragic joys and sorrows 
hid beneath the surface of everyday life. ** These com- 
monplace people," she said in defence of her chosen char- 
acters, "many of them, bear a conscience, and have felt 
the sublime prompting to do the painful right ; they have 
their unspoken sorrows and their sacred joys ; their hearts 
have perhaps gone out toward their first-born, and they 
have mourned over the irreclaimable dead. Nay, is there 
not a pathos in their very insignificance — in our compari- 
son of their dim and narrow existence with the glorious 
possibilities of that human nature which they share ? " 

In writing fiction George Eliot had at last found her 
vocation, and in this fact she experienced a satisfaction 
unknown before. Her domestic life was happy, and 



560 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

henceforth her career is one of stately grandeur. Her 
new-found contentment is reflected in her letters, and the 
last night of 1857 she wrote in her journal : " My life has 
deepened unspeakably during the last year ; I feel a 
greater capacity for moral and intellectual enjoyment, a 
more acute sense of my deficiencies in the past, a more 
solemn desire to be faithful to coming duties, than I re- 
member at any former period of my life." 

Scarcely were the " Scenes from Clerical Life " finished, 
when George Eliot nerved herself for a stronger flight. 
She set to work on "Adam Bede " late in 1857, continued 
it during a pleasant sojourn of some months in Germany, 
and completed it in England in November, 1858. It was 
published the following year, and rarely has any book 
created so great a sensation in the literary world. Charles 
Reade pronounced it "the finest thing since Shake- 
speare " ; Charles Buxton quoted it in Parliament ; Her- 
bert Spencer said that he felt the better for reading it. 
No fewer than eighteen thousand copies were sold the first 
year, and George Eliot suddenly found herself in the fore- 
front of English novelists. 

Though not, perhaps, the greatest of her novels, yet 
"Adam Bede" has remained the most popular. Like 
" Scenes from Clerical Life," the book was based on the 
experiences of her early life. She wrote it with more ease 
and pleasure than any of her other works. Usually her 
books cost her great travail of soul. " My books are deeply 
serious things to me," she wrote shortly after the appear- 
ance of " Adam Bede," " and come out of all the painful 
discipline, all the most hardly learned lessons, of my past 
life." The sad story of Hetty was a true one, which she 



GEORGE ELIOT. 56 1 

had heard from her aunt in youth. The manly Adam was 
an idealization of her father, while her mother furnished 
some of the traits of the inimitable Mrs. Poyser. The 
saintly Dinah was a portrait of her aunt, who in her earlier 
womanhood had been a vehement preacher or exhorter. 

Her next book, completed and published in i860, was 
"The Mill on the Floss." It contains a larger autobio- 
graphic element than any of her other works. It was 
written under more than usual depression of spirit. " I 
am assured," she wrote to Blackwood, '' that ' Adam Bede' 
was worth writing — worth living through long years to 
write. But now it seems impossible to me that I shall 
ever write anything so good and true again. I have 
arrived at faith in the past, but not at faith in the future." 
The result did not justify her misgivings. Though inferior 
to ''Adam Bede," "The Mill on the Floss" is still a piece 
of deep, strong work. 

In i860, after the publication of "The Mill on the 
Floss," George Eliot spent several months in Italy. She 
visited the principal cities and studied their works of art. 
She was especially interested in Florence, which suggested 
to her an undertaking in a new field. " When we were in 
Florence," to use her own words, " I was rather fired with 
the idea of writing a historical romance — scene, Florence ; 
period, the close of the fifteenth century, which was 
marked by Savonarola's career and martyrdom. Mr. Lewes 
has encouraged me to persevere in the project, saying that 
I should probably do something in historical romance rather 
different in character from what had been done before." 

But before this idea was carried out, another English 

story intervened. This was " Silas Marner," the most ar- 
20 



562 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

tistic, perhaps, of all our author's works. Not so lengthy 
as her other novels, it is more rapid in movement and 
symmetrical in form. For the first time in her writings, 
imagination takes the place of reminiscence. Though 
serious, as are all her books, it is less depressing than most 
of them. It is lighted up with many a touch of humor, 
and ends with wedding bells. The transformation in Silas 
Marner's character, through his love for the little waif that 
had stolen into his cottage, is something that is beautiful 
in itself and full of promise for humanity. 

With ''Silas Marner" off hands, George Eliot at once 
set about her historical novel. With a genuine artist 
spirit she gave herself to conscientious preparation for it. 
''I will never write anything," she said, ''to which my 
whole heart, mind, and conscience don't consent, so that 
I may feel that it was something — however small — which 
wanted to be done in this world, and that I am just the 
organ for that little bit of work." For the sake of local 
coloring, she again spent some weeks in Florence ; and 
for the sake of historical truth she carried on a compre- 
hensive course of reading. Two hundred volumes, it has 
been said, contributed of their treasures to " Romola." 
The book drew heavily on the author's vital energies. 
"I began it a young woman," she said; "I finished it 
an old woman." After nearly two years of self-distrusting 
labor, it was completed in 1863; ^-^d the first right of 
publication was sold to the CoiiiJiill Magazine for seven 
thousand pounds. 

" Romola " is one of the greatest of historical novels. 
It reproduces with wonderful power the stirring scenes 
and interests of the close of the fifteenth century. The 



I 



GEORGE ELIOT. 563 

newly awakened ardor for classical learning is strongly 
shown in the bUnd old Bardo. Romola is no less noble 
in soul than beautiful in person ; and the ideals she cher- 
ished may be regarded as those of George Eliot herself. 
Listen, as she speaks to her son Lillo, who has just re- 
vealed his desire for fame and happiness : "It is only a 
poor sort of happiness that could ever come by caring 
very much about our own narrow pleasures. We can 
only have the highest happiness, such as goes along with 
being a great man, by having wide thoughts and much 
feeling for the rest of the world as well as ourselves ; and 
this sort of happiness often brings so much pain with it 
that we can only tell it from pain by its being what we 
would choose before everything else, because our souls 
see it is good. There are so many things wrong and dif- 
ficult in the world that no man can be great — he can 
hardly keep himself from wickedness — unless he gives 
up thinking much about pleasure or rewards, and gets 
strength to endure what is hard and painful." 

After the completion of " Romola," George Eliot rested 
more than a year. She was now living in a commodious 
and attractive home ; and much sought after by friends 
and by persons attracted by her reputation, she gave 
more time to social duties and enjoyments. Her weekly 
receptions were attended by many distinguished men and 
women. Gossip and scandal had no place in these gath- 
erings. " She always gave us of her best," says Oscar 
Browning, who knew her well. " Her conversation was 
deeply sympathetic, but grave and solemn, illumined by 
happy phrases and by thrilling tenderness, but not by 
humor. Although her features were heavy and not well 



564 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

proportioned, all was forgotten when that majestic head 
bent slowly down, and the eyes were lit up with a pene- 
trating and lively gaze. She appeared much greater than 
her books. Her ability seemed to shrink beside her moral 
grandeur." 

After publishing "Felix Holt," one of her least success- 
ful novels, she gave herself earnestly to the completion of 
a poem, "The Spanish Gypsy," which she had begun a 
year or two previously. Among several trips to the Con- 
tinent during this period, she visited Spain, where the 
scene of her poem was laid. With her usual conscien- 
tiousness, she made extensive studies in Spanish history 
and Spanish literature. The subject of the poem was a 
noble conception, presenting the tragic conflict between 
individual and tribal claims. But the truth must be told : 
in spite of her elevated thought, keen insight, and often 
eloquent utterance, George Eliot was not a poet. Though 
" The Spanish Gypsy " was received with favor on its pub- 
lication in 1868, helped no doubt by the author's great 
reputation as a novelist, it is rather tedious reading now. 

Of her other poems, though a fine passage is to be met 
with here and there, it is not necessary to speak. The 
best of them, really a little gem, is as follows : — 

" Sweet evenings come and go, love, 
They came and went of yore ; 
This evening of our life, love. 
Shall go and come no more. 

"When we have passed away, love, 
All things will keep their name ; 
But yet no life on earth, love, 
With ours will be the same. 



GEORGE ELIOT. 565 

" The daisies will be there, love, 
The stars in heaven will shine ; 
I shall not feel thy wish, love, 
Nor thou my hand in thine. 

" A better time will come, love, 
And better souls be born ; 
I would not be the best, love. 
To leave thee now forlorn." 

But little space is left for the remaining works of our 
author. '' Middlemarch " was published in 1872 and 
''Daniel Deronda " in 1876. The rank these works hold 
among her writings is a disputed point ; but the fact seems 
to be that, with less of popular interest, they exhibit greater 
depth and breadth of thought. There are not a few who 
regard " Middlemarch " as the greatest of her works. In 
"Daniel Deronda" she shows her sympathy with the 
Jews, to whom, she maintained, the Western people, who 
have adopted Christianity, owe a pecuHar debt. But how- 
ever great these books may be, their depth and seriousness 
will prevent them from being general favorites. 

In 1878 her husband Lewes died. Notwithstanding 
her great grief, she at once set about editing his works ; 
and to perpetuate his memory, she established a scholar- 
ship, open to students of either sex, for original investiga- 
tion in physiology. This shows her attitude toward the 
higher education of women. She wished them to be edu- 
cated equally with men, seeing in this higher culture a 
better preparation for the duties of Hfe. " It was often in 
her mind and on her heart," says Cross, her best biog- 
rapher, " that the only worthy end of all learning, of all 
science, of all Ufe, in fact, is, that human beings should 



566 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

love one another better. Culture, merely for culture's 
sake, can never be anything but a sapless root, capable 
of producmg at best a shrivelled branch." 

Her second marriage in 1880 to Mr. John Cross, a man 
twenty years her junior, naturally provoked a good deal of 
criticism. It was a severe shock to those who were dis- 
posed to idolize her. But she did not long survive to 
lament the alienation of friends, or to enjoy what she 
called a " renewed interest " in life. On the 22 of Decem- 
ber, 1880, seven months after her marriage, she quietly 
passed away, leaving a vacancy in the world of letters that 
has not since been filled. 

Though destitute of many feminine graces, George EUot 
was a woman of extraordinary intellectual power. Her 
literary gifts reach the high plane of genius. Her writ- 
ings were the product, not merely of studious preparation 
and tremendous toil, but also of that deeper self, which 
lies beyond all scrutiny and understanding. In her best 
work she was guided by a spontaneous and controlling im- 
pulse, which lay beyond the reach of her will. " She told 
me," says Cross, "that in all that she considered her best 
writing, there was a ' not herself ' which took possession of 
her, and that she felt her own personality to be merely 
the instrument through which this spirit, as it were, was 
acting." To a greater or less degree, this is true of all 
real genius. 

In her life she made grave mistakes, and suffered much ; 
but in all her trials of body and soul, she never lost her no- 
bility of purpose nor her sympathy with burdened, strug- 
gling humanity. The deep purpose of her life she has 
beautifully expressed in one of her poems : — 




I 



GEORGE ELIOT. 567 

" May I be to other souls 
The cup of strength in some great agony, 
Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love, 
Beget the smiles that have no cruelty — 
Be the sweet presence of a good diffused. 
And in diffusion ever more intense. 
So shall I join the choir invisible 
Whose music is the gladness of the world." 






\ 



568 ENGLISH LITERATURE, 




ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 

The present century has produced many female writers 
of high excellence. ■ They are represented in almost all 
departments of literature, but notably in poetry and fiction. 
This result has been brought about by the larger culture 
which is now open to women. They have risen to the 
demands of a larger sphere of thought and action. Among 
our great female writers, Mrs. Browning occupies a fore- 
most place. She is beyond question the greatest poetess 
of England, and, as many believe, of the world. What 
other poetess deserves a place beside her } In genuine- 
ness of inspiration and in vigor of thought, she stands 
above all her sister singers. 

Her life, as we sha^ll see, was not without great trials. 
Most persons would have been crushed by them. But, as 
part of her endowment of genius, she had an indomitable 
energy; and, as often happens, her sufferings but deep- 
ened and ennobled her character. She experienced and 
believed, what another poet has said : — 

" These severe afflictions 
Not from the ground arise, 
But oftentimes celestial benedictions 
Assume this dark disguise." 

Suffering gave depth of insight and emotion to her 
song. But better than her poetry, with all its excellence, 
was the brave, pure, noble womanhood that stood behind it. 

Elizabeth Barrett was born in the county of Durham, 




Photograph alter the painting by Field Telfourd. 



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7£^Zc/>7/- 



ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 569 

March 6, 1806. Her ancestors lived for a long time in 
the island of Jamaica, from which her father was taken to 
England in his childhood. When she was two or three 
years old, the family removed from the north of England 
to Herefordshire, where she grew to womanhood. In one 
of her letters, written in 1843, she has given us a picture 
of these years, which were filled with the Enghsh poets, 
Latin and Greek classics, and ambitious efforts at verse. 
'' Most of my events," she says, '' and nearly all my in- 
tense pleasures have passed in my thoughts. I wrote 
verses — as I dare say many have done who never wrote 
any poems — very early ; at eight years old and earlier. 
But, what is less common, the early fancy turned into a 
will, and remained with me, and from that day to this 
poetry has been a distinct object with me — an object to 
read, think, and live for. And I could make you laugh, 
although you could not make the public laugh, by the nar- 
rative of nascent odes, epics, and didactics crying aloud 
on obsolete muses from childish lips." 

Besides Byron and Coleridge, she delighted in Pope's 
" Homer," which at the age of eleven or twelve inspired 
an epic of four books entitled "The Battle of Marathon." 
Proud of his daughter's precocity, Mr. Barrett, who at this 
time possessed considerable wealth, had fifty copies of 
this epic printed for private circulation. At seventeen 
or eighteen she wrote a didactic poem called an " Essay 
on Mind." *' The poem is imitative in form," she wrote in 
after years, '' yet is not without traces of an individual 
thinking and f eehng — the bird picks through the shell in 
it." Recalling the omnivorous reading of those days, she 
wrote in " Aurora Leigh " many years afterward : — 



570 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

" We get no good 
By being ungenerous, even to a book, 
And calculating profits — so much help 
By so much reading. It is rather when 
We gloriously forget ourselves, and plunge 
Soul-forward, headlong, into a book's profound, 
Impassioned for its beauty and salt of truth, — 
'Tis then we get the right good from a book." 

Her thirst for Greek literature was first awakened by 
Pope's translations. After acquiring the elements of the 
language, she pursued a wide course of reading under the 
judicious guidance of Hugh Stuart Boyd, an eminent 
scholar who had lost his sight. She read to him the 
principal Attic poets, and also the — 

" Noble Christian bishops 
Who mouthed grandly the last Greek." 

In " Wine of Cyprus " she has preserved a beautiful pic- 
ture of those youthful studies : — 

" And I think of those long mornings 

Which my thought goes far to seek, 
When, betwixt the folio's turnings. 

Solemn flowed the rhythmic Greek : 
Past the pane the mountain spreading. 

Swept the sheep-belPs tinkling noise, 
While a girlish voice was reading, 

Somewhat low for ai\ and ^/'s." 

In 1832 Mr. Barrett again moved his family, this time to 
Sidmouth, in Devonshire. The house was comfortable 
and cheerful, commanding a view of the sea in front. 
Miss Barrett had now reached maturity in character and 
culture. None of her predecessors had laid so broad a 



ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 57I 

foundation for genius to build upon. Her new home, with 
its agreeable surroundings, proved favorable to literary 
effort. Before the year had elapsed, she made a transla- 
tion of "Prometheus Bound," which was published soon 
afterward with a few original pieces. The translation, 
which had been prepared in twelve days, was not a suc- 
cess. The translator herself said years afterward that *' it 
should have been thrown into the fire— the only means 
of giving it a little warmth." In 1845 it was replaced by 
the present admirable translation found in Mrs. Brown- 
ing's works. 

The family residence at Sidmouth did not prove a per- 
manent one. In 1835 Mr. Barrett took his family to Lon- 
don. For the ambitious poetess this was an important 
change. It brought new friends and larger opportunities. 
Unfortunately her health, which had suffered from an 
accident years before, gave way in the London atmos- 
phere, and her prolonged invalid life had its beginning. 
But her energy could not be quenched. In her invalid 
seclusion, as one of her friends testified, she read " almost 
every book worth reading in almost every language, and 
gave herself, heart and soul, to that poetry of which she 
seemed born to be the priestess." Cut off in large meas- 
ure from social enjoyments, she began the voluminous 
correspondence which gives her an honorable place among 
Enghsh letter-writers. 

She now entered upon a larger literary career by pub- 
Ushing in the New Monthly, then edited by Bulwer, the 
beautiful but sad " Romaunt of Margret." It is a story 
of love and despair. Its form and tone may be judged by 
the last of its twenty-seven stanzas : — 



5/2 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

" Hang up my harp again ! 
I have no voice for song. 
Not song, but wail, and mourners pale, 

Not bards, to love belong. 
O failing human love! 

O light, by darknfess known! 
Oh false, the while thou treadest earth ! 
Oh deaf beneath the stone! 

Margret, Margret." 

This was followed several months later by ''The Poet's 
Vow," pitched in the same melancholy key, but wrought 
out with rich fancy and deep feeling. It teaches the 
lesson that we cannot cut ourselves loose from our kind 
and renounce our humanity. This self-sufficiency is not 
possible even to the angels : — 

" The self-poised God may dwell alone 
With inward glorying ; 
But God's chief angel waiteth for 

A brother's voice to sing ; 
And a lonely creature of sinful nature, 
It is an awful thing." 



^to' 



In 1838 Miss Barrett appeared before the public in a 
volume entitled "The Seraphim and Other Poems." The 
time was favorable. The great poets of the earlier part 
of the century — Scott, Byron, Shelley, Coleridge — had 
finished their work. . Tennyson was but exercising himself 
in metrical effects, and Browning had only given intima- 
tions of his power. The volume met with an encouraging 
reception. The critics recognized the author's poetic abil- 
ity. Her genius was pronounced "of a high order"; she 
was declared to possess " many of the highest qualities of 



ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 5/3 

the divine art." But the praise was tempered with no 
little censure; she was charged with mannerism, a lack 
of taste, and obscurity of style. "The Seraphim" is a 
lyrical drama, of which the dramatis personcE are two 
seraphs, standing first on "the outer side of the shut 
heavenly gate," and then in "mid-air above the Jordan." 
The theme is ambitious ; and while its lyrical excellence 
is readily recognized, it is obviously beyond the reach of 
human genius. Among the other poems printed in this 
volume "Cowper's Grave " has been justly admired. 

In 1838 the state of Miss Barrett's health became so 
alarming that her physician recommended a warmer cli- 
mate. Accordingly she went to Torquay, a watering-place 
on the south coast of Devonshire. She was accompanied 
by her brother Edward, who had been her favorite com- 
panion from childhood. Notwithstanding her continued 
physical weakness, her tireless intellect was engaged in 
literary labors and ambitious literary schemes. Among 
the poems dating from this period is " Crowned and 
Buried," a strong and elevated tribute to the first Napo- 
leon. But her stay here was destined to have a mournful 
end. Her brother, with two companions, was drowned. 
She was prostrated by the dreadful shock; and hence- 
forth Torquay, with its horrible associations, became in- 
tolerable to her sensitive nature. 

In 1 84 1 she returned to her father's house in London, 
where her life for the next five years was that of a con- 
firmed invalid. The greater part of the year she was 
confined to her room, and it was only on warm summer 
days that she could venture out of the house at all. Only 
a few intimate friends were permitted to see her. But 



574 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

under these unfavorable conditions she carried on her 
literary work. In 1842 she published in the AthencBiim 
a series of papers on the Greek Christian poets, and a 
few months later a series on the English poets. She con- 
tinued her studies in Greek literature, and among other 
things read Plato entire in the original. 

The year 1844 was an important epoch in the life of 
Miss Barrett. She published two volumes of poetry, which 
established her fame on a permanent basis. Shortly be- 
fore this Tennyson and Browning had published some 
of their best-known work ; but these volumes placed her 
by the side of these masterful intellects. She took her 
place as the first of English poetesses. Blackwood, in an 
elaborate review, declared that " her genius is profound, 
unsullied, and without a flaw." 

These two volumes of 1844 contain some of Miss 
Barrett's most popular work. ''The Drama of Exile" 
refers to the expulsion of Adam and Eve from Para- 
dise. It contains passages of striking thought and lyrical 
beauty, though as a whole it is too remote from human 
experience to become widely popular. The following 
lines may be taken as expressing the author's fundamental 

view of life : — 

"Live and love. 
Doing both nobly, because lowlily ; 
Live and work, strongly, because patiently! 
And, for the deed of death, trust to God 
That it be well done, unrepented of. 
And not to loss. And thence with constant prayers 
Fasten your souls so high, that constantly 
The smile of your heroic cheer may float 
Above all floods of earthly agonies, 
Purification being the joy of pain!" 



ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 575 

"A Vision of Poets," which contains a brief characteri- 
zation of the principal Greek, Roman, Italian, French, and 
EngHsh bards, abounds in deep thought. The moral of 
the poem, which the author herself had learned by expe- 
rience, is contained in the last stanza : — 

" ' Glory to God — to God ! ' he saith, 
Knowledge by suffering enter eth^ 
And life is perfected by deaths 

'' The Romaunt of the Page " and the " Rhyme of the 

Duchess May " are ballads of deathless love. "The Dead 

Pan " is a noble song, which recognizes the fact of human 

progress : — 

" Earth outgrows the mythic fancies 
Sung beside her in her youth, 
And those debonair romances 
Sound but dull beside the truth. 
Phoebus' chariot course is run : 
Look up, poets, to the sun ! 

Pan, Pan is dead." 

"The Sleep," with its refrain, — 

" He giveth his beloved sleep," — 

is a poem of sweet comforting power. But the most 
popular of all was the romantic, unconventional " Lady 
Geraldine's Courtship." It was hastily written to swell 
the first volume to the requisite number of pages, the 
last hundred and forty-seven lines being written in a 
single day. In spite of Lady Geraldine's infatuation, 
the hero seems wanting in true manliness of feeling and 
conduct. 

The volume in question did more than establish Miss 



5/6 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

Barrett's fame. In " Lady Geraldine's Courtship " she 
had made a graceful reference to Browning. This led 
to an acquaintance, which speedily ripened into love. In 
view of her invalid condition, she for a time rejected his 
suit. Her conduct exhibited the highest degree of unsel- 
fishness. But at length, when her health had become bet- 
ter, she consented to marriage, which took place Sept. 12, 
1846. Owing to Mr. Barrett's unreasonable objection to 
the marriage of his children, the ceremony was clandes- 
tine. Though her father never forgave her, the results 
amply justified her independent course. In all the annals 
of literature, there is scarcely a record of a happier union. 
A week after the marriage, the couple started to Italy, 
which, for the rest of her life, was to be Mrs. Brown- 
ing's home. 

In one of her letters she has told the story of her 
courtship and marriage, in a straightforward way ; but 
the deepest and truest record of her inner life during 
that period is found in her " Sonnets from the Portu- 
guese." They were not written for the public ; and it 
was not till some months after her marriage that they 
were shown to her husband. He at once pronounced 
them *'the finest sonnets written in any language since 
Shakespeare." They embody Mrs. Browning's best work, 
and rank in the very forefront of English love poems. 
The first of the series is regarded by Stedman as the best 
sonnet in our language : — 

" I thought once how Theocritus had sung 
Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years, 
Who each one in a gracious hand appears 
To bear a gift for mortals, old or young ; 



ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. t^JJ 

And, as I mused it in his antique tongue, 
I saw in gradual vision, thro' my tears. 
The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years, 
Those of my own life, who by turns had flung 
A shadow across me. Straightway I was 'ware, 
So weeping, how a mystic shape did move 
Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair ; 
And a voice said in mastery, while I strove, 
^ Guess now who holds thee ? ' ' Death,' I said. 

But then 
The silver answer rang, ' Not Death, but Love.' " 

After spending a few months in Pisa, the poet pair, 
in 1847, took up their residence in Florence, where they 
rented, and tastefully furnished, rooms in the Casa Guidi. 
Though they were frequently on the wing, especially in 
the hot summer months, they looked upon the '* City of 
Flowers " as their home. Their days passed in quiet hap- 
piness. " I can't make Robert go out a single evening," 
Mrs. Browning wrote, " not even to a concert, nor to hear 
a play of Alfieri's, yet we fill up our days with books and 
music (and a little writing has its share), and wonder at 
the clock for galloping." 

In 185 1 Mrs. Browning published her ''Casa Guidi 
Windows," a poem in two parts, in which she gives her 
impressions of contemporary political events in Italy. As 
a thoughtful woman of wide sympathies, her interest ex- 
tended beyond the narrow confines of her household, 
though the advent of a son early in 1849 had awakened a 
wealth of maternal affection. Like her husband, she was 
strongly democratic in her sympathies and ardently 
longed for the freedom of her adopted country. The deep 
interest with which she followed the rapid succession of 

2P 



5/8 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

events at this critical period, is shown in her letters. The 
first part of " Casa Guidi Windows," which was written in 
1848, gives expression to her hopes and aspirations. She 
bravely urges the struggle for liberty : — 

" The world shows nothing lost ; 
Therefore not blood. Above or underneath, 

What matter, brothers, if ye keep your post 
On duty's side ? As sword returns to sheath. 

So dust to grave ; but souls find place in heaven. 
Heroic daring is the true success. 

The eucharistic bread requires no leaven ; 
And, though your ends were hopeless, we should bless 

Your cause as holy. Strive — and having striven, 
Take for God's recompense that righteousness.'" 

The second part of *' Casa Guidi Windows " is filled with 
disappointment over the failure of the Italian struggle for 
liberty. Mrs. Browning did not belong to the timid souls 
that love peace '' at any price " : — 

"• I love no peace which is not fellowship, 

And which includes not mercy. I could have 

Rather the raking of the guns across 
The world, and shrieks against heaven's architrave ; 

Rather the struggle in the slippery fosse 
Of dying men and horses, and the wave 

Blood-bubbHng." 

But in her disappointment over actual results, the poet 
did not lose hope. She held that an aspiring people can- 
not be permanently kept down, and that, therefore, the 
independence of Italy was only a question of time. The 
poem closes in this hope, which was realized only a few 
years later : — 



ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 579 

"We will trust God. The blank interstices 
Men take for ruins, he will build into 
With pillared marbles rare, or knit across 
With generous arches, till the fane's complete." 

In 1851, the year '* Casa Guidi Windows" appeared, 
the Brownings spent some months in England and 
France. In both London and Paris they met the most 
distinguished literary people of the day. From their 
apartments on the Avenue des Champs Elysees in Paris, 
they witnessed some of the exciting scenes of the cele- 
brated coup d'etat of Louis Napoleon. Unlike her hus- 
band, Mrs. Browning had unbounded confidence in his 
ability, integrity, and patriotism. 

At this period Mrs. Browning became deeply interested 
in spiritualism. She attended spiritualistic seances and was 
deeply impressed by a sense of mystery. She attached 
more importance to the fact of spiritualistic revelations 
than to the matter of them, which she recognized as often 
trivial or false. They seemed to give, what her soul 
greatly longed for, an indisputable evidence of individual 
immortality. Her husband did not share her belief ; and 
spiritualism is the only subject on which they ever had 
any serious disagreement. Her letters of this period con- 
tain a good deal about spiritualism ; and whatever may be 
thought of her credulity, we must admire the courage with 
which she defended her convictions and championed an 
unpopular belief. 

In 1855 the Brownings made a second visit to England 
and France, carrying with them a considerable body of 
manuscript. During their stay in London we get inter- 
esting glimpses of Tennyson, Ruskin, Carlyle, and others. 



580 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

**One of the pleasantest things," wrote Mrs. Browning, 
" which has happened to us here is the coming down on us 
of the Laureate, who, being in London for three or four 
days from the Isle of Wight, spent two of them with us, 
smoked with us, opened his heart to us (and the second bot- 
tle of port), and ended by reading ' Maud ' through from 
end to end, and going away at half-past two in the morning. 
If I had had a heart to spare, certainly he would have won 
mine. He is captivating with his frankness, confiding- 
ness, and unexampled naivete ! Think of his stopping in 
' Maud ' every now and then — ' There's a wonderful touch ! 
That's very tender. How beautiful that is ! ' Yes, and 
it ivas wonderful, tender, beautiful, and he read exqui- 
sitely in a voice like an organ, rather music than speech." 
During her stay in London Mrs. Browning completed 
her longest and, after the " Sonnets from the Portuguese," 
her best poem, "Aurora Leigh." It is a novel in verse; 
but it moves on a high plane of thought and feeling. It 
was published in 1856; and so rapid was its sale that a 
second edition was called for in a fortnight. Beyond 
any other of her works " Aurora Leigh " presents her 
thoughts on art and life. She had a high conception of 
the poet's office. She calls poets — 

" The only truth-tellers now left to God, 
The only speakers of essential truth, 
Opposed to relative, comparative, 
And temporal" truths ; the only holders by 
His sun-skirts, through conventional gray glooms ; 
The only teachers who instruct mankind, 
From just a shadow on a charnel-wall, 
To find man's veritable stature out. 
Erect, sublime — the measure of a man." 



ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 58 1 

Here is her conception of art : — 

" What is art 
But life upon the larger scale, the higher, 
When, graduating up in a spiral line 
Of still expanding and ascending gyres, 
It pushes toward the intense significance 
Of all things, hungry for the Infinite? 
Art's life ; and when we live, we suffer and toil." 

She had no sympathy with what has since become the 

naturalistic school of writing : — 

" Natural things 
And spiritual, who separates these two 
In art, in morals, or the social drift, 
Tears up the bond of nature, and brings death, 
Paints futile pictures, writes unreal verse. 
Leads vulgar days, deals ignorantly with men. 
Is wrong, in short, at all points." 

These extracts must suffice to illustrate the thought and 
manner of the poem. The story itself is unconventional, 
but somehow the leading characters and incidents fail to 
awaken anything like breathless interest. 

The year '' Aurora Leigh" was published, the Brownings 
returned to Italy. In spite of her gradually failing health, 
Mrs. Browning took an intense interest in the political 
movements of 1859, when, through the aid of Louis Napo- 
leon, Victor Emmanuel succeeded in driving the Austrians 
from Italy and in effecting the union and independence of 
the country. In i860 she published, in England, a small 
volume entitled "Poems before Congress," in which she 
presented various incidents and phases of the Italian ques- 
tion. Two of the poems, "Napoleon III. in Italy" and 
" Italy and the World," contain exalted passages : — 



582 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

"The soul of a high intent, be it known, 

Can die no more than any soul 

Which God keeps by him under the throne ; 

And this, at whatever interim. 
Shall live, and be consummated 

Into the being of deeds made whole. 

Courage, courage! happy is he 
Of whom (himself among the dead 
And silent) this word shall be said : 
*■ That he might have had the world with him, 
But chose to side with suffering men, 
And had the world against him when 

He came to deliver Italy. 
Emperor 
Evermore.' " 



" A Curse for a Nation " is a severe arraignment of the 
American people for their toleration of slavery. Singularly 
enough, on its appearance it was applied to England and 
denounced as unpatriotic. Mrs. Browning received all the 
adverse criticism of the " Poems before Congress " with 
becoming equanimity. She had not written them for glory. 
" In printing the poems," she wrote to the editor of the 
Athenceimi, ** I did not expect to help my reputation in 
England, but simply to deliver my soul, to get relief to my 
conscience and heart, which comes from a pent-up word 
spoken or a tear shed. Whatever I may have ever written 
of the least worth, has represented a conviction in me, 
something in me felt as truth." 

The lung trouble from which Mrs. Browning had long 
suffered reached its culmination in Casa Guidi, June 29, 
1 86 1. Mr. Browning has given a touching account of the 
last moments of her life : " She smiled as I proposed to 



ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 583 

bathe her feet, ' Well, you arc determined to make an 
exaggerated case of it ! ' Then came what my heart will 
keep till I see her again and longer — the most perfect 
expression of her love to me within my whole knowledge 
of her. Always smilingly, happily, and with a face like a 
girl's, and in a few minutes she died in my arms, her head 
on my cheek. These incidents so sustain me that I tell 
them to her beloved ones as their right ; there was no 
lingering nor acute pain nor consciousness of separation, 
but God took her to Himself as you would lift a sleeping 
child from a dark, uneasy bed into your arms and the 
light. Thank God ! " She was buried in Florence, the 
city she loved so well. 

A study of her life shows that she was one of the 
noblest of women. She is to be numbered with those 
choice spirits who show us by example how excellent a 
thing life may be made. In her delicate frame and gentle 
ways there dwelt heroic qualities of mind and heart. She 
was the friend of truth and humanity. She did not trim 
her utterance to suit popular feeling. To her truth was 
sacred ; and whatever message the muse brought her, she 
uttered fearlessly. Her works breathe an unwavering 
trust in God and immortality. 

Her poetry is the sincere utterance of her soul. The 
nobility of her nature and the extent and refinement of 
her culture lift it above the commonplace in thought and 
expression. Conforming her practice to her theory, she 
let the spirit of each piece determine its form. She han- 
dles with ease difficult stanzaic forms. She was a patient, 
conscientious worker; and her defective rhymes, which 
critics have magnified, were less the result of carelessness 



584 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

than of an unfortunate theory, which was to give greater 
freedom to EngHsh versification. In her earlier poems 
there is, perhaps, a measure of diffuseness ; and through- 
out her literary career she remained romantic rather than 
classic in her genius and art. But in spite of all defects, 
she justly merits Stedman's eulogy as " the most inspired 
woman of all who have composed in ancient or modern 
tongues, or flourished in any land or time." 




Photograph after the painting by G. F. Watt*- 



fkh^ Ihhr?i;m4i/^ r 



ROBERT BROWNING. 585 



ROBERT BROWNING. 

Robert Browning was strikingly original in his poetry 
and paid the penalty of originality. He developed a new 
vein in EngUsh literature; he set himself to explore the 
mysterious workings of the soul. He descended to greater 
depths than our poetical literature had before reached. 
Finding the conventional style of poetry unsuited to his 
purpose, he invented new forms. He devised the dra- 
matic monologue, in which various states of the soul, in 
relation to outward circumstances, are powerfully por- 
trayed. But this departure from conventional form did 
not at once find popular favor. Indeed, the public seemed 
for a time to resent this innovation ; and so, like many 
other great original characters, he was slow in gaining 
recognition. Almost a half century of abundant labors 
elapsed before he reached what not a few regard as a 
foremost place among English poets. 

Browning's poetry is not easy reading. Say what en- 
thusiastic disciples may, he is often obscure. Scarcely 
any of his poems yield up the fulness of their treasures 
before a third reading. There is a rapidity of thought and 
violence of transition that frequently make him difficult to 
follow. His unnatural omission of the relative pronoun 
and of the sign of the infinitive often make it hard to de- 
termine the grammatical relations of his words, and many 
of his allusions are beyond the range of even highly culti- 



586 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

vated people. In many of his more important pieces he 
cannot be understood without study, and often prolonged 
and severe study. But after we have once become famil- 
iar with his peculiarities of method and style, much of 
what was before regarded as obscure becomes perfectly 
clear. 

The work of a great author has more in it than his con- 
scious thought and emotion. It stands in definite relation 
to his era. No one can wholly divorce himself from the 
period in which he lives. Inevitably we partake of the 
culture, the manners, and the tendencies of our time. 
A great writer, and particularly a great poet, is apt, above 
all other men, to be sensitive to his environment, and thus 
becomes, to a greater or less degree, an incarnation of the 
spirit of his age. Without intending to do so, Dante 
gives us a picture of the spirit and thought of his day. 
The Greek dramatists unconsciously exhibit the culture 
and beliefs of the Age of Pericles. And in like manner, 
in the works of Browning and Tennyson, we see the 
breadth of culture, the spirit of inquiry, the wrestling of 
beliefs, and the introspective habits of the latter part of 
the nineteenth century. 

Robert Browning was born at Camberwell, a suburb of 
London, May 7, 1812. His father was a man of vigorous 
constitution and scholarly taste ; and for rare books he 
had, it is said, ** the scent of a hound and the snap of a 
bulldog." With a passion for reading, he was strangely 
indifferent to what are known as '' creature comforts " ; 
and his daughter declared that the announcement '' There 
will be no dinner to-day," would only have elicited the 
placid reply, ''All right, my dear, it is of no consequence." 



ROBERT BROWNING. 587 

Browning's mother was described by Carlyle as " the true 
type of a Scottish gentlewoman " ; and another said that 
she had no need to go to heaven, because she made it 
wherever she was. But she transmitted to her son a ner- 
vous constitution which, however helpful to his poetic 
sensibilities, added to his physical discomfort in the latter 
years of his life. 

As a child Browning was remarkably active, restless, 
precocious. To calm his restlessness, his mother was 
accustomed to tell him stories, and in this manner he was 
made famiUar with the leading characters and incidents 
of the Bible, and his religious nature was more than 
usually developed. He was sent to a neighborhood school, 
where he easily outstripped his companions. He was ex- 
tremely fond of reading, and found in his father's large 
library ample opportunity to gratify his tastes. Among 
the poets he especially admired Byron ; and at the age of 
twelve he is said to have written a volume of poems, which 
Showed the influence of his master. 

His youthful period was one of singular unrest. For 
a time he passed under the influence of Shelley and 
imbibed some of the radical tenets of "Queen Mab," 
Instead of attending one of the great public schools, he 
studied at home under private instructors. He acquired 
a good knowledge of French, and enriched his store of 
information by copious miscellaneous reading. For a 
short time he attended London University, but omitted 
logic and mathematics from his course of study. He 
gave himself seriously to the study of music, in which, as 
is apparent from his works, he made unusual attainments. 
In his eighteenth year he determined to adopt poetry as 



588 ENGLISH LITERATURE, 

his vocation, a choice which was wilHngly acquiesced in 
by his father. As a preliminary step to this calUng, he 
read and digested the whole of Johnson's " Dictionary" — 
a fact that in a measure explains his almost unequalled 
mastery of the resources of our language. 

In 1833 Browning published his first poem ''Pauline." 
Though in after years he spoke of it slightingly, it was a 
remarkable production for a young man who had not yet 
attained his majority. To a few discerning readers, among 
them John Stuart Mill, it gave promise of great things. 
Both in its melody and imagery it contains a perceptible 
echo of Shelley ; but at the same time it reveals not a few 
of the author's distinguishing characteristics. The poem 
at first appeared anonymously ; and it is a remarkable 
tribute to its excellence that D. G. Rossetti, meeting with 
it the first time in the British Museum, made a full copy 
of it. The poem is largely autobiographical and contains 
many fine passages. The following lines reveal the poet's 
passion for music : — 

" For music (which is earnest of a heaven, 
Seeing we know emotions strange by it, 
Not else to be revealed) is as a voice, 
A low voice calling fancy, as a friend, 
To the green woods in the gay summer time : 
And she fills all the way with dancing shapes 
Which have made painters pale, and they go on 
While stars look at them and winds call to them 
As they leave life's path for the twilight world 
Where the dead gather." 

There are but scant records of the poet's fife at this 
period. In 1834 he went with the Russian consul-gen- 



ROBERT BROWNING. 589 

eral, who had taken a great liking to him, to St. Peters- 
burg, where he spent three months. The following year 
he published his poem "Paracelsus," which shows a marked 
advance in maturity of thought and style as compared 
with " Pauline." It is a free, imaginative treatment of 
the historic Paracelsus, who flourished as a famous alche- 
mist and physician at the beginning of the sixteenth cen- 
tury. Somewhat like Goethe's " Faust," the poem presents 
to us the eager aspirations, the daring efforts, and the ulti- 
mate failure of a soul in the pursuit of superhuman knowl- 
edge. In the preface to the first edition, the author states 
the fundamental principle of his dramatic pieces. " In- 
stead of having recourse," he says, " to an external ma- 
chinery of incidents to create and evolve the crisis I desire 
to produce, I have ventured to display somewhat minutely 
the mood itself in its rise and progress, and have suffered 
the agency by which it is influenced and determined, to be 
generally discernible in its effects alone, and subordinate 
throughout, if not altogether excluded." This principle is 
so pervasive in Browning's poetry that it should be clearly 
understood. 

Browning was an idealist. In a scientific and materi- 
alistic age, he proclaimed the fact and worth of intuitive 
knowledge. He placed the seer above the investigator. 
His idealism is presented in a beautiful passage in " Para- 
celsus" : — 

"Truth is within ourselves; it takes no rise 
From outward thinsjs, whatever you may believe. 
There is an inmost centre in us all, 
Where truth abides in fulness ; and around, 
Wall upon wall, the gross flesh hems it in, 



590 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

This perfect, clear perception — which is truth, 
A baffling and perverting carnal mesh 
Blinds it, and makes all error ; and, to kfiow. 
Rather consists in opening out a way 
Whence the imprisoned splendor may escape, 
• Than in effecting entry for a light 

Supposed to be without. Watch narrowly 

The demonstration of a truth, its birth. 

And you trace back the effluence to its spring 

And source within us ; where broods radiance vast, 

To be elicited ray by ray, as chance 

Shall favor." 

Though '' Paracelsus " was coldly received by the public, 
it attracted the attention of a select few and introduced 
the poet to a distinguished literary circle. Among his 
acquaintances at this period were Leigh Hunt, Barry Corn- 
wall, Monckton Milnes, Dickens, Landor, and Wordsworth. 
But no one exerted a more important influence on him 
than the popular actor Macready, who had been greatly 
impressed by "Paracelsus." ''Write a play, Browning," 
said the actor one day, after dining with the poet, '* and keep 
me from going to America." The result was *' Strafford," 
the first of three dramas that were successfully acted. 
The others were " A Blot in the 'Scutcheon " and *' Co- 
lombe's Birthday." All are interesting ; but Browning 
was too metaphysical for a very successful playwright. 

In an essay on Shelley, Browning divided poets into 
two classes — the objective and the subjective. The ob- 
jective poets are chiefly concerned with the forms and 
colors of nature or the acts and outward experiences of 
men. Description is their prevailing mode. Or to use 
Browning's words, the objective poet is *' one whose en- 



ROBERT BROWNING. 59 1 

deavor has been to reproduce things external (whether the 
phenomena of the scenic universe or the manifested action 
of human heart and brain), with an immediate reference 
in every case to the common eye and apprehension of his 
fellow-men, assumed capable of receiving and profiting by 
this reproduction." On the other hand, the subjective 
poet is chiefly concerned with the life of the soul. He 
struggles for the attainment of new and higher truth. To 
him spiritual realities seem of highest worth. Or to quote 
Browning's own explanation, the subjective poet has to do 
'* not with the combinations of humanity in action, but 
with the primal elements of humanity ; and he digs where 
he stands, preferring to seek them in his own soul as the 
nearest reflex of the absolute mind, according to the inti- 
mations of which he desires to perceive and speak." He 
is himself a preeminently subjective poet, who takes as his 

stage — 

" The soul itself, 
Its shifting fancies and celestial lights, 
With all its grand orchestral silences 
To keep the pauses of its rhythmic sounds." 

In 1838 Browning visited the principal cities of Italy, 
a country which he was afterward to make his home for 
many years. On the voyage thither he wrote his most 
stirring lyric, "■ How They Brought the Good News from 
Ghent to Aix." The poem has no historical foundation. 
** I wrote it," the poet says, "under the bulwark of a ves- 
sel, off the African coast, after I had been at sea long 
enough to appreciate even the fancy of a gallop on the 
back of a certain good horse York, then in my stable at 
home." 



592 ENGLISH LITERATURE, 

In 1840 appeared " Sordello," a poem of six thousand 
lines, on which the poet had been working for several 
years. It illustrates his fondness for mediaeval themes ; 
and though he made elaborate researches to furnish him a 
background, the principal interest of the poem is in the 
development of soul life. It presents Browning's pecul- 
iarities — his psychological analysis, his rapid movement 
of thought, and his sudden transitions — in their most 
exaggerated form. It is obscure to an unusual degree 
and never can be popular beyond a very narrow circle. 
It has been variously judged by distinguished critics. Sted- 
man pronounces it '' a fault throughout ... an unattrac- 
tive prodigy," while Gosse professes to be able to " find a 
thousand reasons why ' Sordello ' ought to be one of the 
most readable of books." The great majority of readers 
will agree with Stedman, and regret that the author's at- 
tempt to rewrite it in a more intelligible manner was a 
failure. 

With " Sordello " the poet completed the first stage of 
his development. Up to this time his work had been a 
reflection of his own experience. In some measure " Para- 
celsus " and " Sordello " stood for Browning. But with 
the " Bells and Pomegranates " series, which appeared 
between 1841 and 1846, he entered into a broader sympa- 
thy with human life. He outgrew the trammels of self. 
'' Bells and Pomegranates," a title signifying an alterna- 
tion of poetry with thought, contains some of his choicest 
productions. The first of the series is the beautiful drama 
of '* Pippa Passes," which consists of four scenes, with 
prologue, interludes, and epilogue. Its heroine is " a little 
black-eyed, pretty, singing Felippa, gay silk-winding girl," 



ROBERT BROWNING. 593 

whose artless singing on a holiday marks a turning-point 
in the troubled lives of those whom she fondly imagines to 
be " Asolo's four happiest ones." 

There is no other poem in all Browning's works that 
better illustrates his dramatic monologue than " My Last 
Duchess." For this reason, as well as for its artistic ex- 
cellence, it deserves special attention. The speaker is a 
nobleman of aristocratic pride and high culture, but at the 
same time of a cold and selfish nature. He was a con- 
noisseur in art. He had married a young and beautiful 
lady, whose love and cheerfulness filled the palace with 

sunshine : — 

" She had 

A heart — how shall I say? — too easily made glad, 

Too easily impressed ; she liked whatever 

She looked on, and her looks went everywhere." 

The proud and unfeeling duke looked on this sweet 
light-heartedness as unbecoming her station ; and, accord- 
ingly, he commanded her to assume an artificial and 
haughty dignity. The result was, that joy, and hope, 
and love, were crushed out of her life, and she died 
of a broken heart : — 

" Oh, sir, she smiled, no doubt, 
Whene'er I passed her ; but who passed without 
Much the same smile? This grew ; I gave command ; 
Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands 
As if alive." 

The duke has entered into negotiations for the daughter 
of a count and has received the latter's agent to settle the 
details of dowry. While showing him through the palace, 

2Q 



594 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

the duke stops before the picture of his last wife, and here 
the poem begins : — 

" That's my last duchess painted on the wall, 
Looking as' if she were alive." 

The poem is a tragedy in sixty lines ; but in place of ex- 
ternal actions, we have a revelation of character and states 
of the soul. 

Some of Browning's fundamental ideas are found in 
" Bells and Pomegranates." He looked upon human life 
as a struggle, in which the soul is to climb upwards, 
through successive attainments, toward divine perfection. 
In his drama *'Luria," he says : — 

"How inexhaustibly the spirit grows! 
One object, she seemed erewhile born to reach 
With her whole energies and die content, — 
So like a wall at the world's edge it stood, 
With nought beyond to live for, — is that reached? — 
Already are new undreamed energies 
Outgrowing under, and extending farther 
To a new object; there's another world!" 

This same idea of individual progress is presented more 
fully in a work of later date, '*A Death in the Desert" : — 

" I say that man was made to grow, not stop ; 
That help, he needed once, and needs no more, 
Having grown but an inch by, is withdrawn : 
For he hath new needs, and new helps to these. 
This imports. solely, man should mount on each 
New height in view ; the help whereby he mounts, 
The ladder-rung his foot has left, may fall. 
Since all things suffer change save God the Truth." 

Among the other pieces of the " Bells and Pomegran- 
ates" series which deserve mention, are "The Pied Piper 



ROBERT BROWNING. 595 

of Hamlin," written to amuse the little son of the actor 
Macready, and '' Saul," which ranks high among Brown- 
ing's poems. 

In 1846 Browning married Miss Elizabeth Barrett, to 
whom he had been drawn by her poetic gifts. She was 
an invalid and his senior by six years. Owing to antici- 
pated opposition on both sides, the marriage was secret ; 
and shortly after the ceremony the happy couple started 
to Italy, where, with short intervals, they lived till the 
death of Mrs. Browning in 1861. There was deep intel- 
lectual and spiritual sympathy between them ; and with 
self-sacrifice on his part, and resignation on hers, the 
union, in spite of her continued invalid condition, was one 
of rare beauty and happiness. 

The first three years of Browning's married life did not 
stimulate his literary activity. His mind seems to have 
found satisfaction in the society of his wife and in the nat- 
ural and artistic beauties of Italy. It was not till 1850 that 
his next work appeared, *' Christmas Eve and Easter Day." 
It is noteworthy for its direct discussion of Christianity. 
The poet believed that nature bears testimony, not only 
to the power, but also to the love of God. In '* Christmas 
Eve " he says : — 

" In youth I looked to these very skies, 
And probing their immensities, 
I found God there, his visible power ; 
Yet felt in my heart, amid all its sense 
Of the power, an equal evidence 
That his love, there too, was the nobler dower. 
For the loving worm within his clod 
Were diviner than a loveless god 
Amid his worlds, I will dare to say." 



59^ ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

In 1855 appeared "Men and Women " in two volumes, 
a work that, upon the whole, represents the highest achieve- 
ment of Browning's genius. " Evelyn Hope," " Fra Lippo 
Lippi," " By the Fireside," " Strange Medical Experiences 
of Karshish," "The Last Ride Together," "Bishop Blou- 
gram's Apology," "Andrea del Sarto," ''Old Pictures in 
Florence," " In a Balcony," " Cleon," and others are nota- 
ble poems. In their variety and depth they reveal the many- 
sidedness of the poet's gifts. In several of these poems 
we have Browning's views of art. He does not believe in 
the heresy of " art for art's sake." He recognizes the all- 
pervasive presence of Deity in nature ; and it is the office 
of art to lead us toward the fulness of divine truth and 
beauty. The artist should have clearer vision than other 
men, and reveal to us the beauty that would otherwise pass 
unnoticed. Mere skill in craftsmanship is not enough to 
constitute a great artist; he must also have the uplifting 
power of a lofty purpose : — 

" Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp, 
Or what's heaven for? " 

These are the truths' impressively presented in " Andrea 
del Sarto," the faultless painter. He was a master of tech- 
nique, but was lacking in loftiness of aim. He recognized 
in Angelo and Rafael " a truer light of God " ; and address- 
ing his unsympathetic and worldly-minded wife, he says 
sadly and half reproachfully : — 

" Had the mouth there urged 
'God and the glory! never care for gain. 
The present by the future, what is that ? 
Live for fame, side by side with Agnolo! 
Rafael is waiting : up to God, all three ! ' 
I might have done it for you." 



ROBERT BROWNING. 597 

Browning's views of love were far removed from all 
carnal taint or weak sentimentalism. With him love is 
a deep, strong passion, which, whether its object is at- 
tained or not, still brings its reward in its uplifting effect 
upon the soul. Thus, the discarded lover in "The Last 
Ride " is still able to say : — 

" My whole heart rises up to bless 
Your name in pride and thankfulness." 

This deep and divine passion, so Browning maintained, 
might sometimes set aside or even laugh at the convention- 
alities of society. This is the meaning of the short poem, 
''Respectability." But to say that he was "tolerant of 
what is called intrigue," as Stedman has done, is to mis- 
apprehend the poet's meaning. It is lust, and not love in 
Browning's deep sense, that lies at the basis of a common 
intrigue. "In a Balcony" presents love as the supreme 
blessing of life : — 

"There is no good of life but love — but love! 
What else looks good, is some shade flung from love; 
Love yields it, gives it worth." 

In Italy Browning made his home in Florence, "the 
Queen of Italy," as Mrs. Browning called it ; but he 
remained there only a few months of each year, usually 
spending a part of his summers and winters elsewhere. 
He had a high appreciation of his wife's poetic gifts, and 
to a friend he once said, " She has genius ; I am only a 
painstaking fellow." When she died at Florence in 1861, 
his sorrow was inconsolable. " I want her, I want her," 
was the simple cry that continually welled up from his 



598 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

desolate heart. Shortly after her death he went to Lon- 
don, which was to be henceforth his home. Not wishing to 
subject his son to the ordeal of an English pubHc school, 
he undertook the labor of fitting him for the University. 

In 1864 he published "Dramatis Personae," which con- 
tains several poems of marked excellence. Among these 
are "Abt Vogler," "Rabbi Ben Ezra," and "A Death in 
the Desert." In the first we find an expression of the poet's 
belief that all the good we hope or dream in this life — the 
ideals we cherish — will hereafter be realized. "On the 
earth the broken arcs ; in the heaven a perfect round : " — 

"All we have willed or hoped or dreamed of good, shall exist; 

Not its semblance, but itself; no beauty nor good nor power, 
Whose voice has gone forth, but each survives for the melodist, 

When eternity affirms the conception of an hour. 
The high that proved too high, the heroic for earth too hard. 

The passion that left the ground to lose itself in the sky, 
Are music sent up to God by the lover and the bard ; 

Enough that he heard it once ; we shall hear it by and by." 

" A Death in the Desert " is notable as the only poem 
in which Browning deals directly with historic Christianity. 
The poem seems to have been evoked by Renan's "Vie de 
Jesus," which appeared in 1863. The poet holds that 
Christianity ultimately depends, not on historic proofs or 
miracles, but on its self-evidencing power. It satisfies the 
heart and solves the mysteries of life ; and in these facts 
we find the guarantee of its truth : — 

" I say, the acknowledgment of God in Christ 
Accepted by thy reason, solves for thee 
All questions in the earth and out of it. 
And has so far advanced thee to be wise. 



ROBERT BROWNING. 599 

Wouldst thou unprove this to re-prove the proved? 
In Hfe's mere minute, with power to use that proof, 
Leave knowledge and revert to how it sprung? 
Thou hast it ; use it and forthwith, or die ! " 

The fame of Browning was now well established. A 
younger generation, untrammelled by conventional preju- 
dices, found delight and profit in his works. In 1867 he 
was honored by Oxford with the degree of A.M., and a 
few months later he was made honorary fellow of Balliol 
College. In 1868 appeared "The Ring and the Book," 
a poem of twenty-one thousand lines. It has been pro- 
nounced "the most precious and profound spiritual treasure 
that England has produced since the days of Shake- 
speare." While it is not necessary to accept this enthusi- 
astic estimate, it is unquestionably a great poem. Of its 
twelve long cantos, " Pompilia " and "the Pope" are the 
best ; the former is a simple narrative of the tragedy, the 
latter a fine soliloquy. 

The remaining works of Browning can be barely more 
than mentioned. Some of them are elaborate composi- 
tions, but neither in matter nor in form do they add any- 
thing to the poet's fame. After " The Ring and the 
Book " he entered upon his third period of development, 
which is characterized by reflective rather than imagina- 
tive elements. Almost every year saw a new work issue 
from the press ; but while we must admire the poet's un- 
abated intellectual power, we miss the creative imagination 
that gave vitality and beauty to his earlier productions. 

Browning was passionately fond of the Greek language 
and literature, and in the period under consideration he 
made three transcripts from the Greek tragedians. These 



600 ~ ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

were '' Balaustion's Adventure," containing a version of 
the " Alcestis " of Euripides, '' Aristophanes' Apology," 
containing the " Herakles " of Euripides, and " The Aga- 
memnon" of ^schylus. They reach a high degree of 
excellence, and in the first two the dramas of Euripides 
receive an additional interest from their setting. It is 
remarkable that Browning, with his great fondness for 
Greek literature, refused to regard even its best writers 
as models of style. 

In " Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau," a thin disguise for 
Napoleon III., we have a defence of the policy of expe- 
diency. This poem illustrates a peculiarity of Browning's 
method. In defending a principle or course of action 
which the poet at heart regards as false, the hero of the 
piece is made to present truths of the weightiest import. 
This is true in " Bishop Blougram's Apology," and espe- 
cially in " Fifine at the Fair." In the latter poem, while 
defending inconstancy in love, the speaker deals with some 
of the deepest problems of philosophy and life. Take this 
passage, for example : — 

"I search but cannot see 
What purpose serves the soul that strives, or world it tries 
Conclusions with, unless the fruit of victories 
Stay, one and all, stored up and guaranteed its own 
Forever, by some mode whereby shall be made known 
The gain of every life. Death reads the title clear — 
What each soul for itself conquered from out things here." 

The poem ** La Saisiaz," which was inspired by the 
death of a friend, contains Browning's most elaborate dis- 
cussion of immortality. While conscious of the weakness 
of the usual logical proofs, he accepts the fact, as did 



ROBERT BROWNING. 60I 

Tennyson, on the evidence of the heart. " Ferishtah's 
Fancies " is another poem that contains interesting pas- 
sages and valuable lessons. It embodies the mature wis- 
dom of his later years. 

In its essential features the character of Browning 
might be inferred from the preceding survey of his life 
and writings. His poetry was the honest expression of 
his thought and feeling. In the unfriendly reception his 
works long met with, he showed the strength of conscious 
genius. With something of the sublime confidence of 
Wordsworth, he pitied the ignorance of his critics and 
counted on future recognition. As he grew older, he had 
a large circle of devoted friends ; he was particularly 
drawn to noble women, who repaid him in admiration and 
affection. Though of a modest, retiring nature — so much 
so that he could never make a public speech — he was 
often a brilliant talker. He bestowed much labor on the 
revision of his poems. "People accuse me," he said, "of 
not taking pains ! I take nothing but pains." In his later 
years he worked regularly, and counted that day as lost 
in which he had not written something. In his political 
and social views he was an avowed liberal and sympa- 
thized especially with the movement for the emancipation 
of women. His last years brought increasing physical 
infirmity, and he died at the home of his son in Venice, 
Dec. 12, 1889. A few days later, his body was buried 
in the Poets' Corner of Westminster Abbey. 

Like Tennyson, Browning was a great teacher, a prophet 
for his people. He taught the reality of invisible things. 
The age needed his message. For many years there has 
been a strong drift in the direction of what is visible and 



602 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

perishable. To many life has seemed a hard and hope- 
less struggle — a brief period of toil and suffering, which 
ends at last in darkness. In the midst of these wrong 
and depressing tendencies, Browning appeared with a voice 
of courage and hope. He preached God, and righteous- 
ness, and immortality, not in the language of cant, but 
with the freshness and vigor of one conscious of a divine 
mission. 



I 



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At the agt- ol ru. Etched 



from life by Paul Rujou. Cujo-"-' 
Co., New York, Loudou, and 1 



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ALFRED TENNYSON. 60' 



ALFRED TENNYSON. 

For the greater part of the Victorian period Alfred 
Tennyson stood at the head of Enghsh poetry. His ex- 
traordinary poetic genius was supported by broad scholar- 
ship. He absorbed the deepest and best thought of his 
age ; and instead of mere passing fancies, his poetry em- 
bodies a depth of thought and feeling that gives it inex- 
haustible richness. Viewed from an artistic standpoint, 
his work is exquisite. He surpassed Pope in perfection 
of form ; he equalled Wordsworth in natural expression ; 
he excelled both Scott and Byron in romantic narrative ; 
and he wrote the only great epic poem since the days 
of Milton. 

Few poets have been more fortunate than Tennyson. 
His life was one of easy competence. In the retirement 
oi a cultivated home, and in a narrow circle of congenial 
friends, he steadily pursued his vocation. Never did a 
poet consecrate himself more entirely to his art. He 
wrote no prose. He did not entangle himself in business, 
which has fettered many a brilliant genius. He encumbered 
himself with no public office, by which his poetic labors 
might have been broken. His career, like an English river, 
quietly flowed on among fertile hills and blooming meadows. 

'' From his boyhood," his son tells us, " he had felt the 
magic of Merlin — that spirit of poetry — which bade him 
know his power and follow throughout his work a pure 
and high ideal, with a simple and single devotedness and 



604 • ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

a desire to ennoble the life of the world, and which helped 
him through doubts and difficulties to * endure as seeing 
Him who is invisible.' " In " Merlin and the Gleam," the 
poet has given us his literary history. 

The principal events in the life of Tennyson are the 
publication of his successive volumes. He was born at 
Somersby, in Lincolnshire, in 1 809, the son of a clergyman, 
and the third of twelve children. It was a gifted family, 
which Leigh Hunt called " a nest of nightingales." After 
a careful training in the parsonage under his father, Alfred 
was sent, with two brothers, to Trinity College, Cambridge. 
His appearance was impressive, indicating at the same 
time strength and refinement. He was genial, joyous, and 
full of humor, though suffering at intervals from despond- 
ency. He was a diligent student, with a taste not only for 
the classics, but also for natural science. He took a lively 
interest in the political questions of the day, and, while 
opposed to radical or revolutionary measures, was an advo- 
cate of freedom. In " In Memoriam " there is a pleasing 
reminiscence of his college days, beginning : — 

" I passed beside the reverend walls 
In which of old I wore the gown ; 
I roved at random thro"* the town, 
And saw the tumult of the halls ; 

" And heard once more in College fanes 
The storm their high-built organs make, 
And thunder music, rolling, shake 
The prophets blazoned on the panes." 

The bent of his mind early showed itself ; and in 1827, 
in connection with his brother Charles, he sent forth, as 
yet an undergraduate, a volume entitled " Poems, by Two 



ALFRED TENNYSON. 605 

Brothers." As in the case of Byron, this first volume 
gave no token of genius. The poetry was correct but 
unreadably dull. 

In 1829, in competition with Arthur Hallam, Tennyson 
won a medal for his prize poem on the subject of ''Tim- 
buctoo." This work contained some faint intimations of 
his latent powers. His literary career really opened in 
1830 with a volume of "Poems, Chiefly Lyrical." With 
much that was faulty and immature — suppressed by the 
author in subsequent editions of his works — this volume 
announced the presence of a genuine poet. He did not, 
however, receive the recognition he deserved. Christopher 
North, in Blackwood' s Magazine^ mingled censure and 
praise — his censure being of the positive kind then in 
vogue. The poet resented the criticism ; and in a volume 
published a little later, we find the following reply : — 

" You did late review my lays, 

Crusty Christopher ; 
You did mingle blame and praise, 

Rusty Christopher; 
When I learnt from whom it came, 
I forgave you all the blame, 

Musty Christopher; 
I could not forgive the praise. 

Fusty Christopher." 

Among the pleasing lyrics in this volume are " Lilian," 
" Recollections of the Arabian Nights," and especially 
''Mariana": — 

"The sparrow's chirrup on the roof, 

The clock slow ticking, and the sound 
Which to the wooing wind aloof 
The poplar made, did all confound 



606 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

Her sense ; but most she loathed the hour 

When the thick-moted sunbeam lay 

Athwart the chambers, and the day 
Was sloping toward his western bower. 

Then said she, ' I am very dreary, 

He will not come,' she said ; 
She wept, ' I am aweary, aweary, 

O God, that I were dead!''' 

In "The Poet" Tennyson lays down his conception of 
the poetic character. The poet is preeminently a seer, 
whose message of truth, flying over the earth, brings free- 
dom and wisdom to men : — 

" The poet in a golden clime was born. 
With golden stars above ; 
Dowered with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, 
The love of love. 

" He saw thro' life and death, thro' good and ill, 
He saw thro' his own soul. 
The marvel of the everlasting will 
An open scroll." 

At this period the poet's muse was very active. In 
1832 appeared another volume, which exhibited more 
fully his poetic gifts and made a notable contribution to 
English verse. He easily took his place at the head of 
the younger race of singers. His lyrical power, his 
mastery of musical rhythm, his charm of felicitous expres- 
sion, and his exquisite handling of form and color are 
everywhere apparent. His breadth of sympathy is shown 
by his successful treatment of ancient, mediaeval, and 
modern themes. The " May Queen," with its tender 
pathos, at once touched the popular heart. In "■ Lady 



ALFRED TENNYSON. 607 

Clara Vere de Vere " the nobility of character is presented 
in proud contrast with the nobility of birth : — 

" Howe'er it be, it seems to me, 
Tis only noble to be good. 
Kind hearts are more than coronets. 
And simple faith than Norman blood." 

In "The Lotus Eaters," how exquisitely the sound is 
wedded to the sense : — 

"In the afternoon they came unto a land. 
In which it always seemed afternoon. 
All round the coast the languid air did swoon, 
Breathing like one that hath a weary dream. 
Full-faced above the valley stood the moon ; 
And like a downward smoke, the slender stream 
Along the cliff to fall and pause and fall did seem." . 

This volume of 1832 introduces us to one of the funda- 
mental elements of Tennyson's poetry. It is the blessed- 
ness of love in all its simple, everyday forms. He teaches 
us that the human heart was made for love ; and when- 
ever, for any reason, love is shut out of Hfe, indescribable 
loneliness and sorrow are the inevitable result. This is 
the truth presented in ''The Palace of Art," an allegory 
wrought out with exceeding care : — 

" And he that shuts Love out, in turn shall be 
Shut out from Love, and on her threshold lie 
Howling in outer darkness. Not for this 
Was common clay ta^en from the common earth, 
Moulded by God, and tempered with the tears 
Of angels to the perfect shape of man." 



6o8 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

The uplifting and sanctifying power of Love is beau- 
tifully expressed in the "■ Idyls of the King " : — 

" Indeed I know 
Of no more subtle master under heaven 
Than is the maiden passion for a maid, 
Not only to keep down the base in man, 
But teach high thought and amiable words, 
And courtliness and the desire. of fame. 
And love of truth, and all that makes a man." 

For the next ten years Tennyson published nothing 

except a few pieces in periodicals. Perhaps he had been 

discouraged by the want of appreciation on the part of 

professional critics. But he was by no means driven 

from his art : — 

" The hght retreated, 
The landskip darkened, 
The melody deadened. 
The Master whispered 
' Follow the Gleam.' " 

This intervening period he devoted to diHgent study, 
enlarging his intellectual range and perfecting himself 
in artistic expression. History, science, language, the- 
ology — all were assiduously pursued. He was a care- 
ful student of English poetry. He admired Wordsworth, 
whom he called "the dear old fellow." He had a strong 
appreciation of the elevation and power of Milton, and 
thought that " Lycidas " was *'a test of any reader's 
poetic instinct." He believed that " Keats, with his high 
spiritual vision, would have been, if he had lived, the 
greatest of us all." Shakespeare's sonnets seemed to 
him scarcely inferior to his dramas. This long interim 



ALFRED TENNYSON. 609 

was one of congenial labor and happiness, and the future 
seemed full of promise : — 

" Hope, a poising eagle, burnt 
Above the unrisen morrow." 

From time to time he went to London, where he de- 
lighted in the "central war." He loved to walk in the 
busiest streets, to look at the city from the bridges of the 
Thames, and to stroll into the Abbey and St. Paul's. He 
belonged to the Sterling Club, and among the prominent 
literary men he met were Carlyle, Rogers, Thackeray, 
Dickens, Leigh Hunt, Thomas Campbell. As at college, 
he showed an eager interest in the scientific and economic 
questions of the day. His talk turned chiefly on politics, 
philosophy, and religion. His face was turned to the 
future, — 

" Yearning for the large excitement that the coming years would yield, 
Eager-hearted as a boy when first he leaves his father's field." 

Carlyle gives the following etching of him at this period : 
" One of the finest-looking men in the world. A great 
shock of rough dusky hair ; bright, laughing, hazel eyes ; 
massive aquiline face, most massive yet most delicate ; of 
sallow brown complexion, almost Indian-looking, clothes 
cynically loose, free and easy, smokes infinite tobacco. 
His voice is musical, metallic, fit for loud laughter and 
piercing wail, and all that may lie between ; speech and 
speculation free and plenteous ; I do not meet in these 
late decades such company over a pipe ! we shall see what 
he will grow to." 

Tennyson ripened into maturity, and in 1842 appeared 



2 R 



6iO ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

a new volume, in which are found many of his choicest 
pieces. He was no longer simply a master of delicaj:e 
fancy and lyrical harmony ; he had become also a thinker 
and teacher. Here appears his first work in connection 
with the legend of Arthur and the Round *Table. Milton 
and Dryden had both thought of the Arthurian cycle as 
the subject of an epic poem. It was reserved for Tenny- 
son to realize the idea ; and so well has he done his work 
that we may congratulate ourselves that the older poets 
left the field unoccupied. Listen to the forceful beginning 
of the '' Morte d'Arthur " : — 

" So all day long the noise of battle rolled 
Among the mountains by the winter sea." 

Where can we find a more graphic touch than the de- 
scription of the flinging of Arthur's sword .? — 

" The great bj-and 
Made lightnings in the splendor of the moon, 
And flashing round and round, and whirrd in an arch, 
Shot like a streamer of the northern morn, 
Seen where the moving isles of winter shock 
By night, with noises of the northern sea." 

Here is a picture from *'.The Gardener's Daughter " : — 

" For up the porch there grew an Eastern rose. 
That flowering high, the last night's gale had caught, 
And blow^n across the walk. One arm aloft — 
Gowned in pure white that fitted to the shape — 
Holding the bush, to fix it back, she stood. 
A single stream of all her soft, brown hair 
Pour'd on one side : the shadow of the flowers 
Stole all the golden gloss, and, wavering 



h 



ALFRED TENNYSON. 6ll 

Lovingly lower, trembled on her waist — 

Ah, happy shade — and still went wavering down, 

But, ere it touched a foot that might have danced 

The greensward into greener circles, dipt, 

And mixed with shadows of the common ground ! 

But the full day dwelt on her brows, and sunn'd 

Her violet eyes, and all her Hebe bloom, 

And doubled his warmth against her lips. 

And on the bounteous wave of such a breast 

As never pencil drew. Half light, half shade, 

She stood, a sight to make an old man young." 

" Dora" has the charm of a Hebrew idyl — a poem that 
can hardly be read without tears. '* Locksley Hall," a 
story of disappointed love, is known to all, and many of 
its lines have passed into daily use : — 

" In the spring a livelier iris changes on the burnished dove ; 
In the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love. 

********* 

" Yet I doubt not through the ages one increasing purpose runs. 
And the thoughts of men are widened with the process of the suns.''' 

" Godiva " is a story of heroic self-sacrifice, with many 

an exquisite passage. As the heroine returned to the 

palace, — 

"All at once. 

With twelve great shocks of sound, the shameless noon 

Was clashed and hammered from a hundred towers." 

Almost every poem deserves particular mention. " Ed- 
ward Gray " and '* Lady Clare " are delightful ballads in 
the old style. ** Ulysses " is a strong treatment of a clas- 
sic theme. In ''The Two Voices," *' St. Simeon Stylites," 
and " The Vision of Sin" the poet enters the domain of 



6l2 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

theology. The little song called "Farewell" gives expres- 
sion to a feeling of sadness that has arisen in every sensi- 
tive bosom : — 

" Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea, 
Thy tribute wave deliver ; 
No more by thee my steps shall be, 
Forever and forever." 

The burdening sense of loss on the death of a loved one 
never had stronger expression than in the little poem begin- 
ning, " Break, break, break " : — 

" And the stately ships go on 

To their haven under the hill ; 
But oh, for the touch of a vanished hand, 
And the sound of a voice that is still." 

This volume placed Tennyson in the forefront of English 
poets. What is the secret of his charm } Apart from the 
exquisite finish of his poetry, in which, perhaps, he has 
never been excelled, his productions show the indefinable 
but manifest touch of genius. In thought, imagination, 
and expression he soars far beyond the reach of common 
singers. But more than that : his poetry is the honest 
utterance of a sincere and noble nature. There is nothing 
factitious ; he gives faithful utterance to the truth and 
beauty he discovers in nature and human life. Unlike the 
productions of Browning, Tennyson's poetry is character- 
ized by a chaste simplicity and clearness. In place of deal- 
ing with the violent and tragic passions of life, he confines 
himself within the boundaries of ordinary experience — to 
the great primal affections and interests — which he invests 
with the beauty or pathos of a highly gifted nature. It is 



ALFRED TENNYSON. 613 

these facts that have given him so strong a hold upon the 
popular heart. 

In 1847 appeared "The Princess." The author called it 
"A Medley"; and such it is, composed of mediaeval and 
modern elements. Half jest, and half earnest, it yet reaches 
a serious solution of the vexed problem of woman's educa- 
tion : — • 
" For woman is not undeveloped man, 

But diverse ; could we make her as the man, 

Sweet love were slain : his dearest bond is this, 

Not like to like, but like in difference. 

Yet in the long years must they liker grow ; 

The man be more of woman, she of man ; 

He gain in sweetness and in moral height. 

Nor lose the wrestling thews that throw the world ; 

She mental breadth, nor fail in childward care, 

Nor lose the childlike in the larger mind ; 

Till at the last she set herself to man. 

Like perfect music unto noble words." 

The romantic story is delightfully told ; and the songs 
interspersed among the several parts are, perhaps, the fin- 
est in our language. Where can we match the '' Bugle 
Song"?— 

" The splendor falls on castle walls 
And snowy summits old in story : 
The long light shakes across the lakes. 
And the wild cataract leaps in glory. 
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying. 
Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.'* 

The sympathies of Tennyson were largely conservative, 
especially as he grew older. The lawlessness of Shelley 
and Byron was intolerable to him. He indeed recog- 



6 14 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

nized the existing evils of society, but he looked for a 
remedy, not through any radical break with the estab- 
lished order of society, but in its gradual development into 
better things. Except the question of woman's place in 
the social order, he does not deal fully and progressively 
with any of the problems connected with the democratic 
movement of the age. He had no sympathy with the 
French Revolution, and Paris seemed to him — 

" The red fool-fury of the Seine." 

He had no confidence in democracy in its present 
state of ignorance. "• I do not the least mind," he said, 
\*'if England, when the people are less ignorant and 
more experienced in self-government, eventually becomes 
a democracy. But violent, selfish, unreasoning democracy 
would bring expensive bureaucracy and the iron rule of a 
Cromwell." 

In 1850 appeared ''In Memoriam," the best elegiac 
poem ever written, and one that will perhaps never have 
a rival. It is written in memory of Arthur Hallam, a 
bosom friend of Tennyson's and a young man of rich gifts 
of mind and heart. A bright career seemed open to him ; 
but while travelling in Germany for his health, he sud- 
denly died at Vienna, in 1833. The poet's heart was 
wrung with grief ; and under the weight of bereavement, 
he set himself resolutely to a consideration of the great 
mysteries of life, death, God, providence, eternal life. He 
does not deal with these subjects like a theologian or phi- 
losopher ; but rising above the plane of the understand- 
ing, he finds his answers in the cravings of the heart and 
the intuitions of the spirit. 



ALFRED TENNYSON. 615 

No other poem is so filled with the thought and feeling 
peculiar to our age. It rejects the seductive materialism 
of recent scientific thought ; it is larger and less dogmatic 
than our creeds. With reverent heart the poet finds com- 
fort at last in the '* strong Son of God " : — 

" Thou wilt not leave us in the dust : 

Thou madest man, he knows not why ; 
He thinks he was not made to die ; 
And thou hast made him : thou art just. 

" Thou seemest human and divine. 

The highest, holiest manhood, thou : 
Our wills are ours, we know not how ; 
Our wills are ours, to make them thine. 

" Our little systems have their day ; 

They have their day and cease to be : 
They are but broken lights of thee, 
And thou, O Lord, art more than they. 

" We have but faith : we cannot know ; 

For knowledge is of things we see ; 
And yet we trust it comes from thee, 
A beam in darkness : let it grow.'" 

Tennyson's love of nature, which was scarcely inferior 
to that of Wordsworth, was associated with the pervading 
presence.of God. ** Everywhere throughout the universe," 
to quote from his son's " Memoir," '' he saw the glory and 
greatness of God, and the science of nature was particu- 
larly dear to him. Every new fact which came within his 
range was carefully weighed. As he exulted in the wilder 
aspects of nature and revelled in the thunderstorm, so 
he felt a joy in her orderliness; he felt a rest in her stead- 



6l6 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

fastness, patient progress, and hopefulness." The human 
soul, which mysteriously comes from the universal being 
of God — draws '' from out the boundless deep " — returns 
to Him in death, and thus becomes more intimately a part 
of nature. In this belief Tennyson sings of his departed 
friend in words of deep mystic beauty : — 

" Thy voice is on the rolling air ; 

I hear thee where the waters run ; 
Thou standest in the rising sun, 
And in the setting thou art fair. 

" What art thou then ? I cannot guess ; 
But tho' I seem in star and flower 
To feel thee some diffusive power, 
I do not therefore love thee less : 

" My love involves the love before ; 
My love is vaster passion now ; 
Tho' mixed with God and nature thou, 
I seem to love thee more and more. 

"' Far off thou art, but ever nigh ; 
I have thee still, and I rejoice ; 
I prosper, circled with thy voice ; 
I shall not lose thee tho' I die." 

The year " In Memoriam " appeared, Tennyson was mar- 
ried to Miss Emily Sellwood, to whom he had long been 
attached. He found in her a worthy helpmate, upon 
whose judgment he came to rely more and more. He 
was proud of her intellect and freely discussed with her 
his various literary projects. Through her gentle fore- 
thought and care, he was shielded from interruption and 
the burden of correspondence ; and in seasons of depres- 



I 



I 




^ 



ALFRED TENNYSON. 617 

sion and sorrow, he was sustained and comforted by her 
cheerful courage and tender sympathy. Their union sug- 
gests his '' perfect music set to noble words." 

This same happy year of 1850, Tennyson succeeded 
Wordsworth as poet laureate. After his marriage he lived 
first at Twickenham, which he has made '* doubly classic." 
The latter part of his life he lived at Farringford, Isle of 
Wight, and at his summer residence Aldworth in Surrey. 
He gathered about him a select circle of friends, who 
esteemed him as a man as highly as they admired him 
as a poet. He was fond of reading his poetry to appre- 
ciative hearers. In the prelude to the " Morte d' Arthur," 
he has described his manner : — 

" The poet little urged, 
But with some prelude of disparagement, * 

Read, mouthing out his hollow oe'^ and ^^'s, 
Deep-chested music." 

In 1855 appeared "Maud, and Other Poems." The 
principal poem in this volume has much divided critical 
opinion, but it is safe to say that it falls below his usual 
high achievement. The meaning of the poem, as ex- 
plained by the poet himself, is the reclaiming power of 
love : " It is the story of a man who has a morbid nature, 
with a touch of inherited insanity, and very selfish. The 
poem is to show what love does for him. The war is only 
an episode. Vou must remember that it is not I myself 
speaking. It is this man with the strain of madness in 
his blood, and the memory of a great trouble and wrong 
that has put him out with the world." ^ 

1 Century Magazine, February, 1 893. 



6l8 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

''The Brook" is a charming idyl, containing a delicious, 
rippling inter-lyric : — 

'' I come from haunts of coot and hern, 
I make a sudden sally, 
And sparkle out among the fern. 
To bicker down a valley." 

Whatever doubts touching the poet's genius may have 
been started by " Maud," they were forever cleared away 
in 1859 by the appearance of the " Idyls of the King." 
These poems were received with enthusiasm. Consisting 
at first of only four — Enid, Vivien, Elaine, and Guinevere 
— the poet afterward wrought in the same field, until his 
ten idyls constitute a great epic poem. " Nave and tran- 
sept, aisle after aisle," to use the language of Stedman, 
" the Gothic minster has extended, until, with the addition 
of a cloister here and a chapel yonder, the structure 
stands complete." These "Idyls" belong to the moun- 
tain summits of song. Brave knights, lovely women, 
mediaeval splendor, undying devotion, and heart-breaking 
tragedies are all portrayed with the richest poetic art and 
feeling. Unlike the *' Iliad " or '' Paradise Lost," which 
appeal to us largely through their grandeur, the " Idyls 
of the King " possess a deep human interest. They arouse 
our sympathies. We weep for Elaine ''the lily maid of 
Astolat," the victim of a hopeless love for Lancelot. How 

worthy of his praise ! 

" Fair she was, my King, 

Pure, as you ever wish your knights to be. 

To doubt her fairness were to want an eye. 

To doubt her pureness were to want a heart — 

Yea, to be loved, if what is worthy love 

Could bind him, but free love will not be bound." 



ALFRED TENNYSON. 619 

The agonies of Arthur and Guinevere at Almesbury go 
to the heart : — 



" Lo ! I forgive thee, as Eternal God 
Forgives ; do thou for thine own soul the rest. ' 

But how to take last leave of all I loved? j 

golden hair, with which I used to play, .^ 
Not knowing! O imperial-moulded form, \ 
And beauty such as never woman wore, \ 
Until it came a kingdom's curse with thee. 1 

1 cannot touch thy lips, they are not mine, \ 
But Lancelot's : they never were the King's. 1 
****** I 

My love thro' flesh hath wrought into my life 

So far, that my doom is, I love thee still. ■ 

Let no man dream but that I love thee still. \ 

"i 

Perchance, and so thou purify thy soul. 

And so thou lean on our fair father Christ, 

Hereafter in that world where all are pure, i 

We two may meet before high God, and thou J 

Wilt spring to me, and claim me thine, and know ; 

I am thine husband — not a smaller soul, 

Nor Lancelot, nor another. Leave me that, ] 

I charge thee, my last hope." 

How beautiful the words of Arthur, as he seeks in his ] 
last moments to comfort the lonely and grief-stricken Sir 

Bedivere : — ' 

" The old order changeth, yielding place to new, i 

And God fulfils himself in manv ways, I 

Lest one good custom should corrupt the world. ' 

Comfort thyself: what comfort is in me? ' 
I have lived my life, and that which I have done 

May he within himself make pure! but thou, ^ 

If thou shouldst never see my face again, ; 

Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer ; 



620 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

Than this world dreams of. . . . 

I am going a long way 
With these thou seest — if indeed I go 
(For all my mind is clouded with a doubt) — 
To the island valley of Avilion ; 
Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow, 
Nor ever wind blows loudly ; but it lies 
Deep-meadowVl, happy, fair with orchard lawns 
And bowery hollows crow^n'd with summer sea." 

In 1864 appeared "Enoch Arden," a work of great 
beauty. It depicts with deep pathos the heroism to be 
found in humble life. Beauty, pathos, heroism — these 
are qualities that give it high rank, and have made it per- 
haps the most popular of all Tennyson's writings. Human 
nature is portrayed at its best ; and like all our author's 
poetry, "Enoch Arden" unconsciously begets faith in man 
and makes us hopeful of the future of our race. 

Of Tennyson's other works we cannot speak. It is 
enough to say that they add nothing to his fame. 

The quiet beauty of his death formed a fitting close to 
his long and uneventful career. On the evening of the 
6th of October, 1892, the soul of the great poet passed 
away. The prayer he had breathed two years before in 
the little poem, " Crossing the Bar," was answered : — 

" Sunset and evening star, 
And one clear call for me ! 
And may there be no moaning of the bar 
When I put out to sea. 

" But such a tide as moving seems asleep, 
Too full for sound and foam. 
When that which drew from out the boundless deep 
Turns again home. 



ALFRED TENNYSON, 621 

" Twilight and evening bell, 
And after that the dark! 
And may there be no sadness of farewell 
When I embark. 

" For tho' from out our bourn of Time and Place 
The flood may bear me far, 
I hope to see my Pilot face to face 
When I have crossed the bar." 

He was entombed by the side of Chaucer in Westmin- 
ster Abbey, while two continents lamented his death. 

Whatever changes of taste or fashion may hereafter 
come in poetry, surely we are justified in believing that 
Tennyson will continue to hold a high rank. His work 
is too true in thought, feeling, and execution to pass away. 
It will abide as a perpetual source of pleasure and strength. 
While tenderly sensitive to beauty, he possessed profound 
ethical feehng and spiritual insight. Keenly sympathetic 
with the restless search after truth characteristic of our 
time, he avoided its vagaries and dangers, and continued 
a trustworthy teacher, inspiring confidence in man, hope 
in the future, and faith in God. In the words of Longfel- 
low's beautiful sonnet : — 

"Not of the howling dervishes of song, 

Who craze the brain with their delirious dance, 
Art thou, O sweet historian of the heart! 
Therefore to thee the laurel leaves belong. 
To thee our love and our allegiance, 
For thy allegiance to the poet's art." 



622 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



THOMAS CARLYLE. 

There are three Scotchmen who have reflected great 
glory on their native land by brilliant literary achieve- 
ment. Utterly unlike in temperament and character, they 
have each stood at the head of an important department 
of literature. No one will question the position of Burns 
as chief of popular lyrists. Scott is supreme in historical 
romance. And Carlyle 1 He is the thinker, moralist, 
preacher, who forced an unwilling generation to hear and 
heed his trumpet-toned message. 

As in the case of many other great writers, Carlyle's 
outward life presents nothing remarkable. His biography 
is chiefly subjective. He was not high-born ; he filled no 
prominent civic position; he was not an active leader in 
any of the great movements of his day. He was, rather, 
a voice in the wilderness. His life stands in striking con- 
trast with that of Macaulay. While Macaulay was a man 
of affairs, and attained distinction as an orator, legislator, 
and cabinet minister, Carlyle was a recluse student, and 
rose to prominence by his power as a man of letters. 
Our study is to be, not so much a record of outward facts, 
as the development of a strong personality. 

Carlyle had strong faith in the principle of heredity. 
In his famous Edinburgh address, he says : '' There is a 
great deal more in genealogy than is generally believed 
at present. I never heard tell of any clever man that 
came of entirely stupid people." In his own biographi- 




» 



Photograph after the painting by G. F. Watts. 



/iv<r^>viC^ V^CrkjL^ 



THOMAS CARLYLE. 623 

cal writings he gives prominence to ancestry ; and in 
his " Reminiscences," he pays an affectionate tribute to 
his parents, from whom, as he points out, he inherited his 
leading physical and mental characteristics. Along with 
extraordinary mental vigor, his father, who was a mason, 
spoke in a style bold, glowing, and picturesque. His 
mother possessed the sturdy sense and forceful uprightness 
that made her a worthy companion of her husband. They 
lived in humble circumstances at Ecclefechan, Scotland, 
where their gifted son was born Dec. 4, 1795. 

In " Sartor Resartus " we have an interesting autobi- 
ographical account of his school days. At the age of 
ten he was sent to school at Annan, where his sensitive 
nature exposed him to petty persecutions from his play- 
mates. He was nicknamed "Tom the Tearful." Yet he 
did not always meekly submit to his tormentors. *' At 
rare intervals did the young soul burst forth into fire-eyed 
rage, and, with a stormfulness under which the boldest 
quailed, assert that he too had rights of man, or at least 
of manikin." 

In after years the training he received at Annan 
appeared to him exceedingly mechanical. Though he 
made good attainments in Latin, French, and especially 
mathematics, he characterized his teachers as "■ hide-bound 
pedants" and *' mechanical gerund-grinders." In "Sar- 
tor " the school itself bears the suggestive German name 
of " Hinterschlag Gymnasium." "The Hinterschlag pro- 
fessors," he says, "knew syntax enough; and of the 
human soul thus much : that it had a faculty called 
memory, and could be acted on through the muscular 
integument by appliance of birch rods." 



624 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

It was the wish of his father that he should study for 
the ministry; and, accordingly, in 1809, he was sent to the 
University of Edinburgh. He made the journey of nearly 
a hundred miles on foot. Not many details of his. univer- 
sity career have been preserved. He studied diligently, 
lived in comparative seclusion, and devoted a considera- 
ble part of his time to miscellaneous reading. From 
the chaos of the library he fished up "more books per- 
haps than had been known to the keepers thereof. The 
foundation of a literary life was hereby laid." Like 
Bacon, Milton, and a few other illustrious English au- 
thors, he found fault with the subjects of study and 
methods of instruction. In the autobiographical part of 
" Sartor," he says, with humorous exaggeration : " It is 
my painful duty to say that, out of England and Spain, 
ours was the worst of all hitherto discovered universities." 
He completed his studies in 1814; and while none of his 
professors seem to have discovered his ability, his intimate 
associates, with greater discernment, foretold his future 
eminence. 

After leaving the university, Carlyle taught for two 
years at Annan, and afterward, for the same length of 
time, at Kirkcaldy. He was faithful in his pedagogical 
labors ; but because he preferred his books to the visita- 
tion of his patrons, he acquired a reputation for unsoci- 
ability. But pedagogy was not his vocation. His native 
dislike to teaching soon grew into a settled abhorrence. 
"At the end," to use his own words, "my solitary, des- 
perate conclusion was fixed : that I, for my own part, 
would prefer to perish in the ditch, if necessary, rather 
than continue living by such a trade, and peremptorily 



THOMAS CARLYLE. . 625 

gave it up accordingly." At Kirkcaldy he had his first 
romance, which appears in idealized form in ''Sartor." 

Carlyle had not yet found his work. His inabiUty to 
subscribe the creeds of the church led him to give up 
the ministry. In 181 8 he went to Edinburgh, where he 
taught a few private pupils and, at the same time, studied 
law. Dyspepsia, which remained a plague throughout 
life, began to torment him, and to tinge his thought 
with gloom. He fell into a state of doubt and unbelief, 
which in "Sartor" he describes as ''The Everlasting No." 
"We see him quite shut out from hope; looking, not 
into the golden orient, but vaguely, all around, into a dim, 
copper firmament, pregnant with earthquake and tornado." 
In his gloom and discouragement, he thought for a time, 
as did Burns, Coleridge, and Southey, of emigrating to 

America. 

From this state of doubt and unbelief, which he calls 
his temptation in the wilderness, he finally passed into 
a permanent condition of faith. "This is The Ever- 
lasting Yea, wherein whoso walks and works, it is 
well with him." This experience, which was a kind 
of regeneration, was the great turning-point in Carlyle's 
life. It made him henceforth a positive force for truth 
and righteousness. Nature seemed to him as the vesture 
of God- life was filled with significance; duty became 
sacred; and an infinite love and pity took possession of 
his heart. He now had his divine commission as teacher ; 
and with the courage and fidelity of a Hebrew prophet, 
he delivered his message. 

He gave up the study of law; and after a series of 
tentative efforts, not unattended with discouragements, 

2S 



626 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

he finally embarked upon the literary career, for which 
nature evidently intended him. His first work was the 
contribution of sixteen articles, mostly biographical, to the 
"Edinburgh Encyclopaedia." He translated Legendre's 
"Geometry" from the French — a task in which his su- 
perior mathematical gifts stood him in great stead. But 
far more important was his work in German, the influence 
of which on his style, his thought, and the intellectual 
life of England can hardly be overestimated. He made 
himself the best German scholar in the British Isles and 
did more than any other writer to acquaint the English 
people with the treasures of German literature. He made 
translations from Fouque, Tieck, Hoffman, Richter, Schil- 
ler, and, above all, Goethe. His "Life of Schiller" ap- 
peared in 1823 and Goethe's " Wilhelm Meister" in 1824. 
During these years he was tutor to Charles Buller (after- 
ward a distinguished member of Parliament) at a salary 
of two hundred pounds. 

While sarcastic and ungenerous to most of his great 
contemporaries, Carlyle recognized in Goethe his one 
great master. He spoke of Lamb as an "emblem of 
imbecility." To him " poor Shelley always was a kind of 
ghastly object, colorless, pallid, without health, or warmth, 
or vigor." Macaulay was "a sophistical, rhetorical, ambi- 
tious young man of talent." He described Coleridge, to 
whom he devoted a famous chapter in the " Life of Ster- 
ling," as " a puffy, anxious, obstructed-looking, fattish old 
man," who hobbled about and talked "with a kind of 
solemn emphasis on matters which were of no interest." 
But Goethe, whom he always speaks of with reverence, 
seemed to him the most notable literary man that had 



THOMAS CARLYLE. 627 

appeared in a hundred years. In ''Sartor" he inquires: 
" Knowest thou no prophet, even in the vesture, environ- 
ment, and dialect of this age ? None to whom the god- 
like had revealed itself, through all meanest and highest 
forms of the common ; and by him been again propheti- 
cally revealed ; in whose inspired melody, even in these 
rag-gathering and rag-burning days, man's life again 
begins, were it but far off, to be divine ? Knowest thou 
none such ? I know him, and name him — Goethe." 

In 1826, after a courtship which lasted through several 
years and which was not free from storms, Carlyle married 
Jane Baillie Welsh, a woman who, above him in birth, 
was scarcely his inferior in intellect. Though there was 
genuine affection on both sides, the union was not ideally 
happy. With all her charming graces "Jeannie" had a 
sharp tongue ; and in sarcasm she was a match for her 
gifted husband. Occasion was not lacking. With an 
intense devotion to his work, Carlyle sacrificed his friends 
as completely as himself. The koneymoon was scarcely 
over till he buried himself in his studies ; and throughout 
the forty years of his married life he in a large meas- 
ure sacrificed domestic comfort and companionship to his 
literary pursuits and ambitions. Patience was not one of 
"Jeannie's" virtues, and it is significant that she wrote to 
a young friend, " My dear, whatever you do, never marry 
a man of genius." But in spite of all discord and com- 
plaints, she exhibited a beautiful devotion ; and when she 
died in 1866, she was not undeserving of the noble tribute 
her grief-stricken husband paid her : " My noble one ! I 
say deliberately her part in the stern battle, and except 
myself none knows how stern, was brighter and braver 



628 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

than my own. Thanks, darhng, for your shining words 
and acts, which were continual in my eyes, and in no 
other mortal's. Worthless I was of your divinity, wrapt 
in your perpetual love of me and pride in me, in defiance 
of all men and things. Oh, was it not beautiful ! " 

After his marriage Carlyle took up his residence for a 
time in Edinburgh, where he enjoyed the friendship of 
Sir William Hamilton, Sir David Brewster, De Quincey, 
whose unfavorable review of ''Wilhelm Meister" had 
been forgiven, and, above all, of Jeffrey, who took a deep 
interest in the struggling author. Jeffrey opened to him 
the Edinburgh Review^ in which appeared in 1827 " Rich- 
ter" and "The State of German Literature." These 
were the first of a splendid series of historical and critical 
reviews, which came out in the leading periodicals of the 
day, and which made him, with the possible exception of 
Macaulay, the foremost essayist of the century. He toiled 
tremendously at the tasks he undertook ; and his essays 
are characterized by exhaustive research, deep philosophi- 
cal insight, rare independence of judgment, and a passion- 
ate energy of expression. Among the essays especially 
noteworthy, if a distinction may be made where all attain 
a high degree of excellence, are " Goethe," " Burns," 
"Voltaire," "Signs of the Times," " Novalis," "Character- 
istics," "Boswell's Life of Johnson," and "Sir Walter 
Scott." 

In 1828 Carlyle rhoved to Craigenputtoch, — the Hill of 
the Hawks, — where the next six years of his life were 
spent in great seclusion. Craigenputtoch was a remote 
farm in Dumfriesshire, of which the best that can be said 
is, that it was not " the dreariest spot in the British domin- 



THOMAS CARLYLE. 629 

ions." It was here that in 1831 he wrote ''Sartor Re- 
sartus" — The Tailor Patched. It is the first book in 
which his strong personaUty found complete expression. 
Under the character of Teufelsdroeckh, he pours forth, 
sometimes in the highest form of prose-poetry, his deepest 
thoughts on individual and social life. While it might be 
styled a treatise on things in general, its one great purpose 
is to teach the important lesson of discriminating between* 
appearances and realities. It is echoed in Tennyson and 
Emerson. Though Carlyle afterward modified some of 
his views, " Sartor " contains substantially the great pro- 
phetic message he had for the world. 

As his wife finished reading the last pages, she said, " It 
is a work of genius, dear." Her judgment, which rarely 
erred in literary matters, has been abundantly sustained. 
Carlyle had done his best and naturally regarded the 
result with favor. But the London publishers were slow 
to discover its merits. Its daring originality shocked the 
conventional taste of the time, and, to the great chagrin 
of the author, he could not get it pubHshed for two years. 
When at length it appeared serially in Fraser's Magazine^ 
it was almost universally decried for what was called its 
obscure and barbarous style. There were only two people, 
Carlyle said, who found in it anything worth reading, — 
Emerson and an Irish priest. But he lived to see a 
change — one of the most remarkable in the annals of 
English literature. Before his death '' Sartor Resartus " 
had become one of the most popular and most influential 
books of the century. It is noteworthy that its excellence 
was first recognized in America. 

Much has been said about Carlyle's style, which first 



630 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

appears in its fully developed form in " Sartor." Sterling, 
in an interesting letter quoted by Carlyle himself, points 
out its leading peculiarities, — its barbarous words, its abuse 
of compounds, its license of invention, and its German 
constructions. Certainly it is different from that of any 
other English writer, and has justly called for the designa- 
tion *' Carlylese." But whatever may be its peculiarities, 
there can be no doubt that it was his natural method of 
utterance and that it was an instrument of tremendous 
power. It originated, as Froude tells us, '' in the old farm- 
house at Annandale. The humor of it came from his 
mother. The form was his father's common mode of 
speech, and had been adopted by himself for its brevity 
and emphasis." Its rugged form- — ^ its " nodulosities and 
angularities" — was exactly suited to his rugged char- 
acter. Its words sometimes fairly shriek from the pages. 
It is exceedingly concrete (Carlyle hated abstractions), and 
abounds in remote allusions, from which arises its princi- 
pal obscurity. We may apply to him his description of 
the style of Teuf elsdroeckh — a passage that will serve at 
the same time as an illustration : " Occasionally we find 
consummate vigor, a true inspiration ; his burning thoughts 
step forth in fit burning words, like so many full-formed 
Minervas, issuing amid flame and splendor from Jove's 
head ; a rich idiomatic diction, picturesque allusions, fiery 
poetic emphasis, or quaint tricksy turns ; all the graces 
and terrors of a wild imagination, wedded to the clearest 
intellect, alternate in beautiful vicissitude. Were it not 
that sheer sleeping and soporific passages, circumlocutions, 
repetitions, touches even of pure doting jargon, so often 
intervene ! On the whole. Professor Teuf elsdroeckh is not 



THOMAS CARLYLE. 63 1 

a cultivated writer. Of his sentences perhaps not more 
than nine-tenths stand straight on their legs ; the remain- 
der are in quite angular attitudes, buttressed up by props 
of parentheses and dashes, and ever with this or the other 
tagrag hanging from them ; a few even sprawl out help- 
lessly on all sides,' quite broken-backed and dismembered." 
In 1834 Carlyle left the dreary farm of Craigenputtoch 
to live in London. His limited means enforced the strict- 
est economy ; but his modest home became a centre for the 
gathering of the best literary talent of the metropolis. The 
first years of his London residence, from 1834 to 1837, he de- 
voted to the " French Revolution," a subject that had long 
occupied his attention. It is less a history than prose epic. 
In place of conventional details, it abounds in graphic pic- 
tures, tragic incidents, and tumultuous feeling. It lacks only 
metrical form to take rank with the " Iliad." Carlyle was 
a preacher rather than artist. The " French Revolution " 
was written to impress upon his age, which he believed to 
be full of shams, hypocrisies, and injustice, his great funda- 
mental principle that God governs this universe in justice, 
and that all wrong-doing will, sooner or later, be followed 
by retribution. The first volume, the manuscript of which 
had been accidentally destroyed while in the hands of John 
Stuart Mill, was rewritten with heroic spirit. " What they 
will do with this book," he said to his wife, " none knows, 
my lass ; but they have not had for two hundred years any 
book that came more truly from a man's very heart, and 
so let them trample it under foot and hoof as they see best." 
"They will not trample that," she answered cheerily, and 
she was right. While its unsparing independence of spirit 
displeased various classes and parties, its unmistakable 



632 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

freshness and power were immediately recognized. It 
placed Carlyle's reputation as a writer upon a solid foun- 
dation. Dickens carried it with him in his travels ; Thack- 
eray gave it an enthusiastic review ; Southey read it no 
fewer than six times. 

But the '' French Revolution," while adding immensely 
to his fame, did not at once replenish his purse. Through 
the kindly solicitation of some friends, among whom was 
Harriet Martineau, he was induced to deliver a course of 
lectures. His reputation made it easy to secure a select 
and intelligent audience at a pound apiece. Without the 
graces of an accomplished orator, his wide range of knowl- 
edge and rare command of language made him a speaker 
of impressive power. His voice was harsh ; his gestures 
were abrupt and angular ; and, worst of all, he had the 
habit of distorting his features as if suffering great physi- 
cal pain. 

In all he delivered four courses of lectures, which brought 
him the comfortable sum of eight hundred pounds, and re- 
lieved his domestic needs. He delivered his last and best 
course in 1840 on " Heroes and Hero- Worship." These lec- 
tures were shortly afterward published in book form, and 
make one of his most interesting volumes. Its underlying 
principle is the belief that all human progress is due to the 
small number of supremely gifted men, whom God sends 
into the world at favored epochs. 

His next notable work, " Past and Present," had a politi- 
cal aim. It was inspired by the disturbances of 1842 — 
a period of financial depression and social unrest. The 
odious Corn Laws had made bread dear; and while the 
noble and the wealthy were living in ease and extrava- 



THOMAS CARLYLE. 633 

gance, thousands of workingmen, without employment, 
were on the point of starvation. The social condition of 
England in a measure exhibited the evils which had .pre- 
cipitated the French Revolution. Carlyle was filled with 
indignation and alarm. ** We seem to me near the anar- 
chies," he wrote to his wife. It was these circumstances 
that called forth the burning words of " Past and Pres- 
ent " — once more a mighty plea for truth, duty, justice. 
"Foolish men imagine," he exclaimed, "that because 
judgment for an evil thing is delayed, there is no justice 
but an accidental one, here below. Judgment for an evil 
thing is many times delayed some day or two, some cen- 
tury or two, but it is sure as life, it is sure as death ! In 
the centre of the world-whirlwind, verily now as in the 
oldest days, dwells and speaks a God. The great soul of 
the world \s Just.'' It sold rapidly, and exerted no small 
influence, not only on the thought of the time, but also 
on subsequent legislation. 

In 1845 appeared "Cromwell's Letters and Speeches," 
which had cost Carlyle five years of tedious and painful 
toil, and which is regarded by Froude as the most im- 
portant contribution to English history made in this cen- 
tury. To Carlyle the great Protector was a hero, whose 
sincerity and truth deserved to be held up as an impres- 
sive lesson in an age when " conviction and veracity were 
giving place to hollow cant and formulism." It perma- 
nently, rescued the name of Cromwell from the obloquy 
which political and ecclesiastical conservatism had heaped 
upon it. " With his own right hand, alone and by a 
single stroke," says Frederic Harrison, " he completely 
reversed the judgment of the English nation about their 



634 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

greatest man. The whole weight of church, monarchy, 
aristocracy, fashion, literature, and wit had for two centu- 
ries combined to falsify history and distort the character 
of the noblest of English statesmen. And a simple man 
of letters, by one book, at once and forever reversed this 
sentence, silenced the allied forces of calumny and ran- 
cour, and placed Oliver for all future time as the greatest 
hero of the Protestant movement." 

Many interesting details of Carlyle's life at this period — • 
his friendships with the noble and the great, his journeys 
at home and abroad, the eloquent appeals of his political 
pamphlets — are necessarily passed over. He produced 
one more monumental work, ''Frederick the Great." The 
most elaborate of all his works, it cost him thirteen years 
of almost incredible toil. During this period he withdrew 
almost entirely from society, and, on the best authority, 
" made entire devastation of any satisfactory semblance of 
home life or home happiness." The first two volumes 
appeared in 1858, the third in 1862, the fourth in 1864, 
and the last two in 1865. Of all his works this had the 
swiftest success, three editions being quickly exhausted. 
It was at once translated into German, and in Germany it 
met with the warmest appreciation. Henceforth there 
was no one to challenge Carlyle's right to a place among 
the greatest of English writers. 

After a long struggle against poverty, indifference, 
neglect, depreciation, Carlyle finally achieved a permanent 
triumph. Even former opponents now recognized his 
worth. Scotland, which had long been indifferent or hos- 
tile to her gifted son, hastened to do him honor. In 1865 
he was elected over Disraeli to succeed Gladstone as 



THOMAS CARLYLE. 635 

rector of Edinburgh University, and the following year 
he delivered his Inaugural Address, which was enthusi- 
astically received, not only by the students, but also by 
the people of Great Britain. As Tyndall telegraphed 
Mrs. Carlyle, who was specially solicitous about her hus- 
band's success, it was "a perfect triumph." But alas! 
the satisfaction of it all was to be of short duration. 
Three weeks later, while Carlyle was still in Scotland, he 
received a telegram announcing the sudden death of his 
wife. He never recovered from the blow. 

The closing years of his life were like a clouded even- 
ing sky, which, with deepening gloom, shows now and 
then a momentary rift of sunshine. His bereavement, at 
one fell stroke, stripped him of his Titanic strength. He 
undertook no other great work. Though he had the 
sustaining affection of admiring friends and disciples, he 
came to feel more and more, as death took away one after 
another of those who had been dear to him, that he was 
a lonely wanderer in the world. His one ''expensive 
luxury was charity " ; for in spite of the sternness of his 
manner, and the harshness of some of his teaching, he 
had a kindly heart. The poor and helpless never ap- 
pealed to him in vain. In the period of deep depression 
following the death of his wife, he wrote his '' Reminis- 
cences," a pathetic record of supreme affection and in- 
eradicable remorse. What a depth of penitence is to be 
found in the following admonition, evidently based on the 
recognition of his own irremediable mistakes : " Cherish 
what is dearest while you have it near you, and wait not 
till it is far away. Blind and deaf that we are ; oh, think, 
if thou yet love anybody living, wait not till death sweep 



636 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

down the paltry little dust clouds and dissonances of the 
moment, and all be at last so mournfully clear and beauti- 
ful, when it is too late ! " Though his physical strength 
gradually faded away, his mind retained its native vigor 
to the last. He died Feb. 4, 1881 ; and, as he had de- 
sired, his body was laid to rest in the rural churchyard 
at Ecclefechan. 

And now, what of the man and his message } That 
he had his weaknesses and limitations, has already been 
made apparent; but that he was a "blatant impostor" or 
a "shallow dogmatist," is what no unprejudiced mind will 
believe. The foundation of his character was a rugged 
honesty — an unselfish love of truth. Throughout his 
life, in spite of dyspeptic irritability and violence, he was 
a bold assailant of wrong and a fearless champion of 
truth and righteousness. With the courage of a Hebrew 
prophet, he resolutely put aside every selfish consideration 
in the faithful proclamation of his message. In all his 
writings he labored in the utmost sincerity. 

Carlyle was a profoundly religious man. Though he 
could not accept any of the existing ecclesiastical creeds, 
he recognized the existence of a personal, omnipresent 
Deity, and reverenced his revelation in nature and history. 
His religion lay at the basis of his sincerity. He had no 
tolerance for materialism or scepticism. " No nation," he 
said in his Inaugural Address, " which did not contem- 
plate this wonderful universe with an awe-stricken and 
reverential belief that there was a great unknown, om- 
nipotent, and all-wise and all-just Being, superintending 
all men in it, and all interests in it — no nation ever came 
to very much, nor did any man either, who forgot that. 




CARLYLE'S MONUMENT. 
Cheyne Row. 



■•■i 

" Dead, who had served his time. 
Was one of the people's kings, 
Had labour'd in lifting them out of the slime, 
And showing them souls have wings." 

— Tennyson. 



^1 



THOMAS CARLYLE. 637 

If a man did forget that, he forgot the most important 
part of his mission in this world." His experience led 
him to accept the truth of a special Providence ; and of 
immortality he wrote, " The possibility, nay, in some way, 
the certainty of permanent existence daily grows plainer 
to me." 

He held, more or less consistently, to a mystical or 
transcendental philosophy of nature. " All visible things," 
he says in '' Sartor," *' are emblems ; what thou seest is 
not there on its own account ; strictly taken, is not there 
at all ; matter exists only spiritually, and to represent 
some idea, and body it forth." This is the key to much 
of his teaching. To him natural law was the immediate 
manifestation of the Divine will ; and whoever, therefore, 
in any way contravenes natural law, thereby sets himself 
in opposition to God. He believed God to be just ; and 
from this fact he deduced his famous maxim, which has 
sometimes been misunderstood, that ''Might is right" ; or, 
in other words, that power springs from righteousness. 
Wrong is essentially weak because God is against it. 
''Deep in the heart of the noble man," he says, "it lies 
forever legible, that as an invisible just God made him, so 
will and must God's justice and this only, were it never 
so invisible, ultimately prosper in all controversies and 
enterprises and battles whatsoever." 

This mystical or transcendental way of looking at 
the world explains the peculiarity of his political views. 
He had a deep sense of the individual worth of man. 
He adopted the words of Chrysostom, " The true She- 
kinah is man." His fiercest polemics are against the 
oppressio of the laboring classes. But with all his sym- 



638 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

pathy for the common people, he felt a deep distrust of 
their power to govern themselves. He loved, but he did 
not trust mankind. While intensely democratic in hu- 
manitarian sentiment, he was aggressively aristocratic in 
his governmental theories. He held that only the best 
and ablest men should rule — a class not likely to be 
chosen, as he thought, by popular vote. This aristo- 
cratic tendency, which is against the irresistible demo- 
cratic movement of the time, has largely discredited his 
political teachings. 

In its essential features, Carlyle's was a great life. No 
other writer left a deeper impress on the Victorian Age. 
In spite of weaknesses and errors, the weight of his life 
was on the side of righteousness. As he quaintly wrote 
in one of his letters, *' I've had but one thing to say from 
beginnin' to end o' my books, and that was, that there's 
no other reliance for this world or any other but just the 
Truth, and that if men did not want to be damned to all 
eternity, they had best give up lyin' and all kinds o' false- 
hood ; that the world was far gone already through lyin', 
and that there's no hope for it, save just so far as men find 
out and believe the Truth, and match their lives to it." 




Hollyer, photograph after painting by G. F. Watts. 




/^iPs 



MATTHEW ARNOLD. 639 



MATTHEW ARNOLD. 

In deference to his express wish, Matthew Arnold has 
not been made the subject of a biography. The wish, 
no doubt, grew out of a deHcate aversion to unnecessary 
pubUcity. There is nothing in the general tenor, or par- 
ticular circumstances of his life, of which he might feel 
ashamed. All that we are able to learn of him is of 
good report ; and whatever may be his fame as a poet and 
critic, he deserves still higher admiration for his genuine 
worth as a man. 

The nearest approach to a biography is a collection of 
two volumes of his Letters. They were written principally 
to members of his own family, and were evidently never 
intended for publication. They are written with natural 
simplicity, and reveal to us a laborious, cultivated, kind- 
hearted man. It is not the '' apostle of culture " that 
speaks in them, but the diligent school inspector, and the 
affectionate son, husband, father, and friend. We hear 
less about "sweetness and light" than about commonplace 
interests and duties. In the words of the editor of the 
Letters, who knew him well, *' Nature had given him a 
sunny temper, quick sympathy, and inexhaustible fun. 
But something more than nature must have gone to make 
his constant unselfishness, his manly endurance of adverse 
fate, his buoyancy in breasting difficulties, his unremitting 
solicitude for the welfare and enjoyment of those who 



640 ENGLISH^ LITERATURE. 

stood nearest to his heart. Self-denial was the law of his 
life, yet the word never crossed his lips." 

Matthew Arnold was born at Laleham, in the valley 
of the Thames, Dec. 24, 1822. He was the eldest son 
of Dr. Thomas Arnold, the historian of Rome and the 
famous head-master of Rugby. " It is not necessary," 
said the great master once in administering discipline, 
''that this should be a school of three hundred, or one 
hundred, or fifty boys, but it is necessary that it should be 
a school of Christian gentlemen." Matthew Arnold re- 
vered the memory of his father, and in one of his letters 
pays him this tribute: ''This is just what makes him 
great — that he* was not only a good man, saving his 
own soul by righteousness, but that he carried so many 
others with him in his hand, and saved them, if they 
would let him, along with himself." 

Arnold's mother, who lived to enjoy her son's rising 
fame, was a woman of marked excellence of mind and 
character. She kept in touch with the expanding knowl- 
edge of the century. When she died, in 1873, he wrote to 
a friend : " She had a clearness and fairness of mind, an 
interest in things, and a power of appreciating what might 
not be in her own line, which was very remarkable, and 
which remained with her to the very end of her life." A 
large part of his published correspondence consists of 
letters to his mother. Well might he say to her in one of 
them, "The more I see of the world, the more I feel 
thankful for the bringing up we had, so unworldly, so 
sound, so pure." 

We have only meagre details of his childhood. In 1836 
he entered Winchester College, where his cleverness as a 




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MATTHEW ARNOLD. 64 1 

student secured him exemption from the humiliation and 
cruelties of fagging. A year later he entered Rugby, and 
in 1840 he won a school prize with his first published 
poem, ''Alaric at Rome." The glimpses we get of his 
school life indicate that he was a student of unusual dili- 
gence and promise. 

In 1 84 1 he entered Balliol College, Oxford, where he 
distinguished himself by the extent and accuracy of his 
attainments. In 1842 he won a scholarship, and the year 
following he gained the Newdigate prize with his poem 
on "Cromwell." Though in later years he criticised Ox- 
ford, he always retained a tenderness for it, with all its 
faults loving it still. " Beautiful city ! " he exclaims in the 
preface to his "Essays on Criticism," "so venerable, so 
lovely, so unravaged by the fierce intellectual life of our 
century, so serene ! 

' There are our young barbarians all at play ! ' 

" And yet, steeped in sentiment as she lies, spreading her 
gardens to the moonlight, and whispering from her towers 
the last enchantments of the Middle Ages, who will deny 
that Oxford, by her ineffable charm, keeps ever calHng us 
nearer to the true goal of all of us, to the ideal, to perfec- 
tion, — to beauty, in a word, which is only truth seen from 
another side } — nearer, perhaps, than all the science of 
Tubingen." 

He graduated at Balliol College in 1844, and the follow- 
ing year became a fellow of Oriel. He taught Latin and 
Greek for a short time at Rugby and in 1847 became 
private secretary to Lord Lansdowne. His published let- 
ters begin the following year, and enable us, from that 
2 T 



642 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

time on, to follow pretty fully his movements and his 
thoughts. He took a lively interest in the social and po- 
litical changes going on in Europe in 1848, and lamented 
the narrowness and insensibility of England in the pres- 
ence of democratic ideas on the Continent. 

For the first time we get a glimpse of his reading and 
favorite authors. He lived with the masters of thought. 
He cared but little for the literature of the day, which to 
him was *' not bracing or edifying in the least." His es- 
timate of contemporaries was generally under the mark. 
Among the authors he read at this period were Bacon, 
Pindar, Sophocles, Milton, Thomas a Kempis, and Eccle- 
siasticus. But the two writers who exercised a great and 
permanent influence upon him were Goethe and Words- 
worth. In a letter written in 1848, he says : '* I have been 
returning to Goethe's Life, and think higher of him than 
ever. His thorough sincerity — writing about nothing that 
he had not experienced — is in modern literature almost 
unrivalled. Wordsworth resembles him in this respect ; 
but the difference between the range of their two experi- 
ences is immense, and not in the Englishman's favor." In 
a poem dating from this time, we find another reference 
to these same great authors : — 

'• Too fast we live, too much are tried, 
Too harassed, to attain 
Wordsworth's sweet calm, or Goethe's wide 
And luminous view to gain." 

In 1 85 1 Arnold was appointed inspector of schools. It 
would be a mistake to think of him solely as a literary 
man. For thirty-five years he gave himself diligently to 



MATTHEW ARNOLD. 643 

educational labors, which were often exacting and distaste- 
ful. He felt hampered by them, as he believed that his 
principal mission was literature. He frequently com- 
plained of the tedious routine of examining teachers and 
papers. He made several trips to the Continent to exam- 
ine the schools and methods of instruction in France and 
Germany, and his careful, elaborate reports are valuable 
educational documents. His conception of the end of 
education was personal worth rather than practical effi- 
ciency. ** Soberness, righteousness, and wisdom — I can- 
not consider that,'' he says, " a bad description of the aim 
of education, and of the motives which should govern us 
in the choice of studies, whether we are preparing our- 
selves for a hereditary seat in the English House of Lords 
or for the pork trade in Chicago." 

Arnold was married the year of his appointment as 
school inspector, and his domestic life was peculiarly 
happy. His published correspondence contains numerous 
letters to his wife. He loved children and entered heartily 
into their enjoyments. " As we think of him," says the 
editor of his Letters, " endearing traits of character come 
crowding on the memory, — his merry interest in his 
friends' concerns ; his love of children ; his kindness to 
animals ; his absolute freedom from bitterness, rancor, and 
envy ; his unstinted admiration of beauty and cleverness ; 
. . . his childlike pleasure in his own performances — 
* Did I say that .-* How good that was ! ' . . . He was 
preeminently a good man ; gentle, generous, enduring, 
laborious ; a devoted husband, a most tender father, and 
unfailing friend." 

His literary career began in 1849 with "The Strayed 



644 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

Reveller, and Other Poems," which was followed three 
years later by " Empedocles on Etna, and Other Poems." 
In 1853 he published a volume of "Poems," made up 
principally from his previous works. He had a high 
conception of the nature of poetry, which he defined 
as " a criticism of Hfe under the conditions fixed for 
such criticism by the laws of poetic truth and poetic 
beauty." He did not believe, as Macaulay and Nordau 
have held, that poetry would disappear with the full 
maturity of our race. On the contrary, he maintained 
that '' the future of poetry is immense, because in poetry, 
where it is worthy of its high destinies, our race, as time 
goes on, will find an ever surer and surer stay." While 
insisting on beauty of form, he laid particular stress on 
truth and value of substance. In one of his sonnets he 
says that the poet's muse should be — 

" Young, gay, 
Radiant, adorned outside ; a hidden ground 
Of thought and of austerity within." 

In his poems Arnold endeavored to keep his practice 
in line with his principles. By a careful and constant 
perusal of Greek poetry, he largely imbibed its spirit 
and to some extent followed its models. In the preface 
to the volume of 1853 he says: "In the sincere endeavor 
to learn and practise, amid the bewildering confusion 
of our times, what is sound and true in poetical art, I 
seemed to myself to find the only sure guidance, the only 
solid poetry, among the ancients." In a later edition he 
criticises the vagaries of modern literature as fantastic, 
and wanting in sanity. " Sanity," he says, " that is the 



MATTHEW ARNOLD. 645 

great virtue of the ancient literature ; the want of that 
is the great defect of the modern, in spite of its variety 
and power." 

We cannot assign him a very high rank as a poet — 
considerably lower, indeed, than he imagined he deserved. 
" My poems represent, on the whole," he frankly said in 
one of his letters, *'the main movement of mind of the 
last quarter of a century, and thus they will probably 
have their day as people become conscious to themselves 
of what that movement of mind is, and interested in the 
literary productions which reflect it. It might be fairly 
urged that I have less poetical sentiment than Tennyson, 
and less intellectual vigor and abundance than Browning; 
yet, because I have more of a fusion of the two than 
either of them, and have more regularly appHed that 
fusion to the main line of modern development, I am 
likely enough to have my turn, as they have had theirs." 
His poems are lacking in the q.uality of spontaneity or in- 
evitableness. Few of them have the stamp of melodious 
perfection. They frequently exhibit subtlety of thought 
and delicacy of feeling; but the conscious, restrained 
effort is nearly always discernible. His narrative poems, 
particularly " Sohrab and Rustum " and " Balder," reflect, 
in their clearness and dignity of style, the poet's studies 
in Homer. Both are admirable poems. The closing 
paragraph of the former, a few lines of which follow, 
has been justly admired: — 

" For many a league 
The shorn and parcelled Oxus strains along 
Through beds of sand and matted rushy isles, — 
Oxus, forgetting the bright speed he had 



646 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

In his high mountain cradle in Pamere, 

A foiled circuitous wanderer, — till at last 

The longed-for dash of waves is heard, and wide 

His luminous home of waters opens, bright 

And tranquil, from whose floor the new-bathed stars 

Emerge, and shine upon the Aral sea." 

In ** Resignation " Arnold gives expression to his con- 
ception of the poetic character : — 

" Deeper the poet feels ; but he 
Breathes, when he will, immortal air. 
In the day's life, whose iron round 
Hems us all in, he is not bound; 
He leaves his kind, overleaps their pen. 
And flees the common life of men. 
He escapes thence, but we abide. 
Not deep the poet sees, but wide." 

The prevailing tone of his poetry is sad. He had a 
strong sense of fate and sbrrow in human life. In the lit- 
tle poem ** A Question," the sad and tragic side of life finds 
beautiful expression : — 

"Joy comes and goes, hope ebbs and flows 
Like the wave ; 
Change doth unknit the tranquil strength of men. 
Love lends life a little grace, 
A few sad smiles ; and then 
Both are laid in one cold place, — 
In the grave." 

The poet felt keenly the unsettled conditions and beliefs 
of our epoch of change and transition. In "The Future," 
a poem that treats of the destiny of man, we read : — 



MATTHEW ARNOLD. 647 

" This tract which the river of Time 
Now flows through with us, is the plain. 
Gone is the cahii of its earher shore. 
Bordered by cities, and hoarse 
With a thousand cries is its stream. 
And we on its breast, our minds 
Are confused as the sounds which we hear, 
Clianging and short as the sights which we see." 

We find a similar strain in ** The Grande Chartreuse " : — 

" Achilles ponders in his tent, 
The kings of modern thought are dumb ; 
Silent they are, though not content, 
And wait to see the future come. 
They have the grief men had of yore, 
But they contend and cry no more." 

In Arnold's poems there are but few of those felicitous 
phrases or passages that become popular quotations. In 
addition to the poems already mentioned, the following are 
worthy of note : " Stagirius," " Human Life," " In Utrum- 
que Paratus," *' Dover Beach," ** Lines Written in Ken- 
sington Gardens," "The Scholar Gypsy," "Memorial 
Verses," and " Obermann." 

Arnold's poetry, though never widely popular, early 
established his reputation as a poet; and in 1857 he was 
elected Professor of Poetry at Oxford — a position he held 
for ten years. His lectures there, in which he first appears 
as a critic, were received with favor. In 1861 appeared 
his work " On Translating Homer," an admirable piece of 
suggestive criticism. He pointed out as the four chief char- 
acteristics of the Greek poet his rapidity, his directness of 
thought and expression, his simplicity of matter and ideas, 



648 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

and his nobleness of manner. These quaHties the transla- 
tor, he maintains, ought to reproduce. The leading Eng- 
lish translations are tested by these principles and found 
wanting. Many illustrative passages make the discussion 
clear and convincing. " Cowper renders him ill because 
he is slow in his movement and elaborate in his style ; 
Pope renders him ill because he is artificial both in his style 
and in his words ; Chapman renders him ill because he is 
fantastic in his ideas ; Mr. Newman renders him ill because 
he is odd in his words and ignoble in his manner." 

Arnold holds that hexameter is the best metre for 
rendering Homer. The prejudices at present existing 
against hexameter will sooner or later pass away. He is not 
satisfied with precept alone ; and to illustrate his critical 
principles he translates several passages himself. The ad- 
dress of Zeus to the horses of Achilles, Pope renders in the 
following manner, which Arnold condemns as artificial : — 

" Nor Jove disdained to cast a pitying look 
While thus relenting to the steeds he spoke : 
'Unhappy coursers of immortal strain! 
Exempt from age and deathless now in vain ; 
Did we your race on mortal man bestow 
Only, alas ! to share in mortal woe?'" 

This passage Arnold turns into hexameter more literally 
as follows : — 

"And with pity the son of Saturn saw them bewailing, 
And he shook his head, and thus addressed his own bosom : 
' Ah, unhappy pair, to Peleus why did we give you. 
To a mortal? but ye are without old age and immortal. 
Was it that ye, with man, might have your thousands of sorrows? 
For than man, indeed, there breathes no wretcheder creature, 
Of all living things, that on earth are breathing and moving." 



MATTHEW ARNOLD. 649 

Arnold always bore adverse criticism with equanimity 
and good humor. His views on translating Homer were 
attacked in the Saturday Review ; and writing to his 
mother about the article, he says : " When first I read a 
thing of this kind, I am annoyed ; then I think how 
certainly in two or three days the effect of it upon me 
will have wholly passed off; then I begin to think of the 
openings it gives for observations in answer, and from 
that moment, when a free activity of the spirit is restored, 
my gayety and good spirits return, and the article is 
simply an object of interest to me. To be able to feel 
thus, one must not have committed oneself on subjects 
for which one has no vocation, but must be on ground 
where one feels at home and secure — that is the great 
secret of good humor." 

In 1865 appeared his "Essays in Criticism," a volume 
chiefly noted for its first chapter on the function of criti- 
cism. Arnold was more than a mere literary artist; 
beneath all his writings, however urbane in manner, 
there is a serious purpose. He made criticism mean much 
more than the inglorious art of finding fault or of dis- 
playing the critic's learning. " Its business is," he says, 
'' simply to know the best that is known and thought in 
the world, and by in its turn making this known, to create 
a current of true and fresh ideas." Or, as he more briefly 
defines it elsewhere, criticism is " a disinterested endeavor 
to learn and propagate the best that is known and thought 
in the world." This places criticism on a high plane, 
and makes of the competent critic an inspiring teacher 
and guide. 

Arnold was a true patriot. Though he recognized the 



650 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

superiority of the French in ideas, and of the Germans in 
learning, his heart was always with his own people. But 
he recognized their faults, — their narrowness, their inac- 
cessibility to new ideas, and their absorbing interest in 
material things. He described his literary work as an 
effort " to pull out a few more stops in that powerful 
but at present somewhat narrow-toned organ, the mod- 
ern Englishman." He sought to promote in England a 
higher type of civilization — a type that rises above sor- 
did, material interests into the region of ideas. '' Man 
is civilized," he said, "when the whole body of society 
comes to live with a life worthy to be called humajie, and 
corresponding to man's true aspirations and powers." 

In promoting his purpose he did not use the methods 
of a stern, logical thinker. He frequently referred, with 
playful, ironic self-depreciation, to Frederic Harrison's 
criticism that he was without a "philosophy with coherent, 
interdependent, subordinate, and derivative principles." It 
was not in his nature to dispute very obstinately in behalf 
of his opinions. He followed a hghter, Hterary method, 
which gently tries to approach truth on one side after 
another. " He who will do nothing but fight impetuously 
toward the Goddess," he said, " on his own, one, favorite, 
particular line, is inevitably destined to run his head into 
the folds of the black robe in which she is wrapped." 

The volume entitled "Culture and Anarchy," which was 
published in 1869, is one of his most characteristic works. 
It furnished most of the words — "culture," "sweetness 
and light," "Philistine," "Barbarian," "Hebraism and 
Hellenism" — with which his name and message are 
associated. To understand these terms, as he used them, 



MATTHEW ARNOLD. 65 I 

is to possess, in large measure, the secret of Arnold. 
They embody the ideas that are constantly recurring in 
his works. 

What does he mean by culture } Not a smattering, as 
Mr. Bright declared, of Latin and Greek, nor an empty 
book-learning that unfits a man for the commonplace 
duties of life. Arnold used the word culture in a noble 
sense. He defined it as " a pursuit of our total perfec- 
tion by means of getting to know, on all matters that most 
concern us, the best which has been thought and said in 
the world." The aim of culture is " sweetness and light," 
which are identified with "reason and the will of God." 

To the great middle class of England Arnold applied 
the German term Philistine, by which he meant a strong, 
stolid, unenlightened opponent of the children of light. 
To the nobility he gave the name Barbarian, by which he 
meant to indicate, in spite of outward graces, the lack of 
real refinement of soul. " Philistine," he says, ''gives the 
notion of something particularly stiff-necked and perverse 
in the resistance to light and its children ; and therein it 
specially suits our middle class, who not only do not pur- 
sue sweetness and Hght, but who even prefer to them that 
sort of machinery of business, chapels, tea meetings, and 
addresses from Mr. Murphy, which makes up the dismal 
and illiberal life on which I have so often touched. But 
the aristocratic class has actually, in its well-known polite- 
ness, a kind of image or shadow of sweetness ; and as for 
light, if it does not pursue light, it is not that it perversely 
cherishes some dismal and illiberal existence in preference 
to light, but it is lured off from following light by those 
mighty and eternal seducers of our race which weave 



652 ENGLISH LITERATURE. • 

for this class their most irresistible charms, — by worldly- 
splendor, security, power and pleasure. . . . Keeping this 
in view, I have in my own mind often indulged myself 
with the fancy of employing, in order to designate our 
aristocratic class, the name of TJie Bcwbariansr 

Two great tendencies in human life he designated as 
Hellenism and Hebraism. Both aim at human perfec- 
tion, but along different paths. Hellenism lays stress on 
intellectual culture ; Hebraism on moral culture, ** The 
uppermost idea with Hellenism," he says, "is to see things 
as they really are ; the uppermost idea with Hebraism is 
conduct and obedience." These tendencies are not exclu- 
sive of each other,, though a severe conflict is now going 
on between them. " Hebraism at its best," he says, " is 
beauty and charm ; Hellenism at its best is also beauty 
and charm. As such they can unite. . . . Both are emi- 
nently humane, and for complete human perfection both 
are required ; the first being the perfection of that side 
in us which is moral and acts ; the second, of that side in 
us which is intelligential and perceives and knows." 

Arnold was at heart deeply religious. Though in his 
writings on religion — " St. Paul and Protestantism " (1870), 
" Literature and Dogma " (1873), and " God and the Bible " 
(1875) — he strongly assailed some current theological 
teachings, he firmly believed in God and the moral gov- 
ernment of the world. He stoutly resisted the encroach- 
ments of materialism and unbelief. His definition of God 
as "the enduring power, not ourselves, which makes for 
righteousness," is well-known. Religion he defines as 
" that which binds and holds us to the practice of right- 
eousness." He places much stress on what he calls "the 



MATTHEW ARNOLD. 653 

secret and method of Jesus," that is, inward piety and 
sweet reasonableness. 

Though he rejected the miraculous element of the New 
Testament, he upheld the moral teachings of Christ. He 
defended St. Paul against Renan. In Christ and his teach- 
ings he found the permanent ideal of humanity. " Jesus 
Christ and his precepts," he said, *' are found to hit the 
moral experience of mankind, to hit it in the critical 
points, to hit it lastingly ; and, when doubts are thrown 
upon their hitting it, then to come out stronger than ever." 
In the presence of growing disbelief, he said : " I believe 
that Christianity will survive because of its natural truth. 
Those w^ho fancied that they had done with it, those who 
had thrown it aside because what was presented to them 
under its name was so unreceivable, will have to return 
to it again and learn it better." And over against the 
pessimism of Schopenhauer, he avows his conviction that 
" human life is a blessing and a benefit, and constantly 
improvable, because in self-renouncement is a fount of 
joy, ' springing up into everlasting life.' " 

In the fall of 1883 Arnold visited America and spent 
some months in lecturing in the principal cities. He was 
cordially received, and his letters show a warm apprecia- 
tion of American life and American character. He was 
struck with "the universal enjoyment and good nature." 
But he missed the English love of quiet and criticised the 
general restlessness and love of publicity. " It is very 
fatiguing," he wrote ; '' I thank God, it only confirms me 
in the desire * to hide my life,' as the Greek philosopher 
recommended, as much as possible." The lectures he 
delivered, three in number, are contained in the volume 



654 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

entitled " Discourses in America." They are, for the most 
part, restatements in refined, popular form of the critical 
and social teachings found in his other writings. The 
most interesting of the lectures is the one on " Emerson," 
in the opening pages of which his style reaches the high- 
est point of lyrical beauty and eloquence. It must be 
said, however, that he does the transcendental poet and 
philosopher scant justice. He thought well of these *' Dis- 
courses in America," and said, shortly before his death, 
that it " was the book by which, of all his prose writings, 
he should most wish to be remembered." 

There is not space to speak of Arnold's other writ- 
ings, the most interesting of which is a second series of 
"Essays in Criticism," published in 1888. It contains a 
valuable chapter on ''The Study of Poetry" and criti- 
cal reviews of Milton, Gray, Keats, Wordsworth, Byron, 
Shelley, and others. He had now well-nigh reached the 
allotted age of man, and March 15, 1888, he suddenly died 
at Liverpool, whither he had gone to welcome his daugh- 
ter on her arrival from America. "To have known him," 
says a friend, " to have loved him, to have had a place in 
his regard, is — 

' Part of our life's unalterable good.' " 

As we review the leading points in Arnold's criticism, 
on which his fame must chiefly rest, we are impressed 
with his limitations. His attainments were neither of the 
widest nor profoundest. What, then, has been the secret 
of his popularity ? First of all his style, though a little 
too self-conscious and overrefined, is winning and lucid. 
There is never any difficulty in understanding what he is 



MATTHEW ARNOLD, 655 

driving at, and he labels his principal points with a telling 
word or phrase. Besides this, he preserved at all times 
an unruffled sweetness of temper. Even in his most re- 
fined cruelty he exhibits a charming urbanity. But most 
of all, he had a real message to the Enghsh people. He 
earnestly exhorted them to mingle with the pursuit of gain 
the sweetness and Hght of genuine culture. The self-con- 
fidence or dogmatism often apparent in his manner did 
not rise from an offensive egotism. The explanation is to 
be found in his preface to " St. Paul and Protestantism." 
In what he wrote he believed himself to be an organ for 
that mighty collective tendency which we call the spirit 
of the age. Whoever looks upon himself in this light, 
necessarily speaks '* as one having authority." 



656 ENGLISH LITERATURE, 



JOHN RUSKIN. 

The restless genius of John Ruskin has led him into 
many fields of thought. He has been an artist, art critic, 
author, moralist, sociologist, reformer. He has not been 
equally great in all these spheres of activity, but he has 
everywhere been animated by the same valiant and unself- 
ish love of truth. His opinions are not always safe or 
consistent, and many of his social ideas are strangely im- 
practicable ; but whatever he has said or advocated, has 
come from the depths of a heroic sincerity. 

In their ardor for truth and righteousness there was a 
warm sympathy between Ruskin and Carlyle. Their ad- 
miration was mutual. Ruskin called Carlyle master ; and 
Carlyle in return lauds Ruskin's divine ardor against un- 
righteousness. In a letter to Emerson, the sage of Chelsea 
writes : *' There is nothing going on among us as notable 
to me as those fierce Hghtning bolts Ruskin is copiously 
and desperately pouring into the black world of anarchy 
all around him. No other man in England that I meet 
has in him the divine rage against iniquity, falsity, and 
baseness that Ruskin has, and that every man ought to 
have." Yet there is a marked difference between these 
two great teachers. The feminine tenderness and inex- 
tinguishable hopefulness of Ruskin stand in marked con- 
trast with the viking fierceness and intolerant pessimism 
of Carlyle. 




Photograph from life. 




r^ 



JOHN RUSK IN. ^cj 

John Ruskin was born in London, Feb. 8, 1819. His 
death occurred at Brantwood, Jan. 20, 1900. His father, 
a wine-merchant, united to a sound, practical judgment an 
unusual artistic and literary taste. He painted in water- 
colors ; and after the business cares of the day were over, 
he was accustomed to read aloud to the family the stand- 
ard English authors. The legend on his tomb says : 
'' He was an entirely honest merchant, and his memory 
is to all who keep it dear and helpful. His son, 
whom he loved to the uttermost, and taught to speak the 
truth, says this of him." Ruskin's mother was a pious, 
practical, aspiring woman, who ruled her household with 
diligent strictness. Both parents were Scotch and trans- 
mitted to their son the courage and enthusiasm character- 
istic of the Celtic temperament. 

Ruskin's early training lacked sympathy and tender- 
ness. He was denied the usual playthings of children 
and thrown almost entirely on his own resources for 
amusement. Thus he learned to observe closely the 
things about him, — the pattern of the carpet, the scenes 
from the window, the forms of flower and leaf in the 
garden. His father and mother seemed to stand at a 
vast distance above him, like the forces of nature. When 
he was seven years old, as he tells us, he was, in large 
measure, mentally independent of his parents, and 
" began to lead a very small, perky, contented, conceited, 
Cock-Robinson-Crusoe sort of life." 

The moral sense of Ruskin was acute and strong. His 
parents intended him for the church. It was a matter 
of deep regret to his father that he turned aside to art 
and authorship. When a friend once remarked that an 

2 N 



658 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

amiable clergyman had thus been lost, his father replied 
with tears in his eyes, " Yes, he would have been a 
bishop." As frequently happens, he was encouraged to 
preach as a child. One of his sermons has been handed 
down, and is remarkable as containing the substance of 
a large part of his subsequent teaching : " People, be 
dood. If you are dood, Dod will love you. If you are 
not dood, Dod will not love you. People, be dood." 
This sermon he mentions in his autobiography as ex- 
emplary in brevity and in doctrine. 

His mother held him inexorably to a long and careful 
study of the Bible. This training, though often painful 
to him at the time, he regarded late in life as the most 
precious part of his education. *' My mother forced me," 
he says in *' Praeterita," "by steady daily toil, to learn 
long chapters of the Bible by heart ; as well as to read 
it every syllable through aloud, hard names and all, from 
Genesis to the Apocalypse, about once a year ; and to that 
discipline — patient, accurate, and resolute — I owe, not 
only a knowledge of the book, which I find occasionally 
serviceable, but much of my general power of taking pains, 
and the best part of my taste in literature." No other 
recent writer has made so many references to biblical 
incident and so many applications of biblical truth. 

Ruskin's childhood travels were an important influence 
in his early development. His father travelled for orders 
two or three months every summer. Accompanied by 
his wife and son, he travelled leisurely in his post-chaise, 
and lost no opportunity to visit places of interest. In 
this way the young Ruskin, before he had reached his 
teens, had become acquainted with the towns, country- 



JOHN RUSKIN. 659 

seats, and natural scenery of nearly all England, Wales, 
and the lowlands of Scotland. With powers of observa- 
tion keenly active, he laid up considerable stores of infor- 
mation, and in his diaries began to exercise himself in 
accurate and brilliant description, which not a few regard 
as the greatest merit of his subsequent writings. 

The thirst of authorship laid hold of Ruskin with un- 
usual violence. He was encouraged in composition by 
his parents, who paid him at the rate of a penny for 
twenty lines. Nourished on Scott and Pope, to whom he 
has always remained loyal, he wrote both prose and poe- 
try with equal facility. Before he was ten years of age, 
he wrote several volumes, illustrating them with appropri- 
ate drawings. His poetry, ambitious in scope and style, 
clearly shows the influence of Pope. Though he contin- 
ued to write verse for many years, he was not a poet, and 
finally perceived, to use his own words, that " he could 
express nothing rightly in that manner." 

Without attending school, Ruskin 's education was going 
on apace. He was taught Latin, Greek, French, and 
mathematics by excellent private tutors. He took lessons 
in drawing, in which he made astonishing progress. On 
his thirteenth birthday he received a copy of Rogers's 
" Italy," which had been illustrated by Turner. This gift, 
as he thought, determined the main tenor of his life. 
Filled with admiration of Turner's drawings, he accepted 
them as exclusive models. Then followed a family trip 
to the Continent, during which France, Germany, Switzer- 
land, and Italy were visited. Everywhere the ardent young 
artist was busy with pen and pencil, accumulating materials 
for a work which, in a few years, would startle the cultured 



660 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

circles of England, and exert no small influence on the 
taste a,nd art of the English people. 

Ruskin passionately loved the mountains. As a boy of 
fourteen he wrote : — 

" There is a thrill of strange delight 
That passes quivering o'er me. 
When blue hills rise upon the sight, 
Like summer clouds before me." 

At Schaffhausen he was thrilled with his first view of 
the Alps, to the forms and structure of which he subse- 
quently devoted so much fond and patient study. The 
impression of this first view was never forgotten, and in 
his autobiography the scene is vividly recalled. " The 
Alps," he says, ''were clear as crystal, sharp in the pure 
horizon sky, and already tinged with rose by the sinking 
sun. Infinitely beyond all that we had ever thought or 
dreamed — the seen walls of lost Eden could not have 
been more beautiful to us ; not more awful, round heaven, 
the walls of sacred Death." This sight of the Alps was 
a new revelation to him of the beauty of the earth, the 
proclamation of which he joyfully recognized as a part 
of his mission to men. 

Ruskin was a worshipper of nature. Every natural 
object had a peculiar charm for him. With equal delight 
he studied the graceful curvings of the blades of grass, 
the terrific approach and passing of the storm, and the 
tumultuous sublimity of the surging ocean. No other 
writer has had a richer insight into the hidden beauties 
of nature, or pointed out its charms in diviner language. 
Unlike Carlyle, who esteemed the world a waste without 



JOHN RUSK IN. 66 1 

human affection, he found a genuine and satisfying com- 
panionship in mountain, wood, and stream. These were 
to him sources of perpetual inspiration and instruction — 
"the Hght of all that he rightly learned." 

In 1836 he matriculated at Christ Church, Oxford, as a 
gentleman-commoner. His genius and amiability won 
him the respect of his aristocratic associates, several of 
whom afterward became quite distinguished. His moral 
life was innocently exemplary ; for, as he records, he had 
never touched a card, looked upon dice with horror, and 
had no taste for hunting or racing. The historic buildings 
interested him. The ancient languages, in which he 
never attained scholarly proficiency, he studied, not for 
their grammar, but their literature. He became quite 
proficient in mathematics and interested himself in natural 
science, to which the university was just beginning to 
accord some recognition. His skill in English composition 
early made itself recognized, and, after two unsuccessful 
efforts, he won the prize in poetry. 

In his autobiography he gives an amusing account of 
an essay which he was appointed to read before the body 
of students. The incident throws light on the university 
life of the time. He was an excellent reader and ac- 
quitted himself to his entire satisfaction. He descended 
from the rostrum to receive, as he confidently expected, 
the thanks of the gentlemen-commoners, whom he felt he 
had so creditably represented. But he was cruelly unde- 
ceived. "Not in envy, truly," he says, "but in fiery 
disdain, varied in expression through every form and 
manner of English language, they explained to me that 
I had committed grossest /ese majeste against the order 



662 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

of gentlemen-commoners; that no gentleman-commoner's 
essay ought ever to contain more than twelve lines, with 
four words in each ; and that, even indulging to my folly, 
and conceit, and want of savoir-faire, the impropriety of 
writing an essay with any meaning in it, like vulgar 
students, — the thoughtlessness and audacity of writing 
one that would take at least a quarter of an hour to read, 
and then reading it all, might for this once be forgiven 
to such a- greenhorn, but that Coventry wasn't the word 
for the place I should be sent to if ever I did such a thing 
again." 

Though some of his previous writings had found their 
way into print, Ruskin's literary career properly began, 
while an undergraduate at Oxford, with " The Poetry of 
Architecture." It consisted of a series of articles con- 
tributed to Loudon's ArcJiitectural Magazine under the 
noni de phinie of *' Kata Phusin " — according to nature — 
which indicates their standpoint. It is a discussion of 
cottage and villa architecture in England, France, Switzer- 
land, and Italy, for which his frequent journeys and well- 
filled sketch-books supplied abundant materials. He 
regarded architecture in England as at a low ebb. The 
work, certainly a remarkable production for an under- 
graduate, exhibited in no small degree the tone and 
principles of his later works on the same subject. 

In 1842, after finishing his course at the university, 
and making another studious tour on the Continent, 
Ruskin began his career as a critic of art. His 
attainments were extraordinary for a young man of 
twenty-three. Stimulated by Carlyle's " Heroes and 
Hero- Worship," he was ready to attempt a noteworthy 



JOHN RUSK IN. 66 T, 

achievement in art. An occasion was not lacking. 
Turner had been attacked as untrue to nature ; and 
with a truly chivalrous spirit, the young enthusiast 
championed the cause of his master. The result was 
the " Modern Painters," the first volume of which ap- 
peared early in 1843. 

The work created a storm. It boldly attacked popular 
favorites ; it set at defiance the conventional principles of 
art ; it preached fidelity to nature, not only in its outward 
forms, but in its invisible spirit. It was confident and 
intolerant in tone. Yet it was written with such fulness 
of knowledge and such eloquence of description that, in 
spite of its iconoclastic audacity, it was widely read. It 
was attacked, but not refuted. Before the fifth and last 
volume appeared, seventeen years later, the " Modern 
Painters " had profoundly influenced popular taste, in 
large measure hushed the hostile criticism of Turner, and 
in fact created a new era in the art criticism of England. 

Ruskin's knowledge of art broadened and deepened. 
Other trips to the Continent gave him an opportunity to 
''walk with Nature" among the Alps. In Italy he be- 
came enamoured of Christian art and studied some of the 
" old masters," particularly Angelico and Tintoret, with, 
absorbing enthusiasm. He was always discovering some 
great, forgotten artist. During the winter of 1845 he 
wrote the second volume of " Modern Painters," to ex- 
pound the nature of beauty, and to explain the old Flor- 
entine and Venetian schools of painting. Though the 
most philosophical of all his writings, it abounds in beau- 
tiful passages. On its publication Sydney Smith set the 
pace for the critical world by pronouncing it a work of 



664 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

"transcendent talent, presenting the most original views 
in the most eloquent and powerful language, which would 
work a complete revolution in the world of taste." 

The work of composition was not to him, as to Carlyle, 
a painful drudgery. He went to his work with well-filled 
note-books and well-defined ideas. ''My literary work," 
he tells us, " was always done as quietly and methodically 
as a piece of tapestry. I knew exactly what I had got to 
say, put the words firmly in their places like so many 
stitches, hemmed the edges of thapters round with what 
seemed to me graceful flourishes, touched them finally 
with my cunningest points of color, and read the work to 
papa and mamma at breakfast the next morning, as a girl 
shows her sampler." Tears of joy on the cheeks of the 
old people were his usual reward. 

Ruskin was accustomed" to say playfully, yet half seri- 
ously, that Saturn presided at his birth. Certainly an 
untoward influence dominated his love affairs and domes- 
tic relations. His youth was not without its romance, 
which ended in disappointment and illness. In 1848 he 
married a beautiful Scotch maiden, for whom, some years 
previously, he had written the fairy tale "The King of 
the Golden River." Unfortunately there was no deep 
affection on either side ; and after a half-dozen discordant 
and unhappy years she left him. Though the tongue of 
scandal was not silent, his high-bred delicacy has never 
allowed him to write a word in defence of himself or in 
censure of others. 

The year following his ill-starred marriage appeared one 
of his most popular works, " The Seven Lamps of Archi- 
tecture." It points out the close relation between morality 



JOHN RUSK IN. 665 

and art, and is a noble plea for sincerity and truth. " How- 
ever mean or inconsiderable the act," he says, "• there is 
something in the well doing of it which has fellowship 
with the noblest forms of manly virtue ; and the truth, 
decision, and temperance, which we reverently regard as 
honorable conditions of the spiritual being, have a repre- 
sentative or derivative influence over the works of the 
hand, the movements of the frame, and the action of the 
intellect." Though extreme sometimes in the application 
of his principles, he is always admirable in his zeal for 
truth. 

The following years were very busy and fruitful. Grieved 
at the divided condition of Protestantism, he wrote his 
"Notes on the Construction of Sheepf olds " (not a few 
prosaic farmers bought it under a misapprehension), in 
which he made a plea for greater toleration and unity in 
religion. He espoused the cause of the new school of 
painters — Hunt, Millais, Collins, Rossetti — who broke 
away from conventionalism to return to nature. His pen 
now carried with it great weight. In the face of the ridi- 
cule heaped on the new school, he wrote a pamphlet entitled 
'' Pre-Raphaelitism." For several years he was regarded 
as the leader of the Pre-Raphaelites. But the principal 
work of this period was "The Stones of Venice," the first 
volume of which appeared in 1851 and the two remain- 
ing volumes in 1853. The purpose of the book, for which 
he had made laborious studies in Venice, was to trace the 
relation between the 'architecture and the social and reli- 
gious life of a people. The principle is enunciated — and 
it runs through a large part of our author's writings — that 
" all art is great, and good, and true, only so far as it is 



666 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

distinctively the work of manhood in its entire and highest 
sense." 

After completing "The Stones of Venice," Ruskin en- 
tered a new field, to which we owe some of his most 
charming works. He became a popular lecturer. In the 
fall of 1853 he delivered a course of lectures before the 
Philosophical Society of Edinburgh on. " Architecture and 
Painting." The lectures present in brief, popular form 
the views more fully expounded in his previous works. 
He interspersed the reading of his carefully prepared 
manuscript with extemporaneous comment in colloquial 
form — the two styles standing in somewhat violent 
contrast. 

The year i860 marks an important change in Ruskin's 
writings. With the fifth volume of " Modern Painters " 
finished this year, he closed his series of great works 
devoted to art. Now, at the age of forty, life assumed for 
him a deeper meaning. His horizon greatly broadened ; 
and in place of an artist and critic, he became an ethical 
teacher and social reformer. Henceforth his great re- 
sources of artistic knowledge were used chiefly to illus- 
trate and enforce moral lessons. His sense of evil 
deepened, and with prophetic fervor he inveighed against 
every form of iniquity. 

In i860 he wrote four essays on political economy, 
which were pubHshed in the Cornhill Magazine. They 
are entitled '' Unto this Last." Though violently repro- 
bated at the time — Thackeray had to cut the series short 
— they were regarded by their author as ''the truest, 
rightest-worded, and most serviceable things " that he had 
written. They contain in brief compass Ruskin's views 



JOHN RUSK IN. 667 

on social science. " Munera Pulveris," written a year 
later, is only a more expanded treatment of the same sub- 
ject. He defines political economy as the science " which 
teaches nations to desire and labor for the things that lead 
to life, and which teaches them to scorn and destroy the 
things that lead to destruction." The highest form of 
wealth consists, not in accumulating houses and lands, but 
in ** producing as many as possible full-breathed, bright- 
eyed, and happy-hearted human creatures." 

The most popular of all Ruskin's works is *' Sesame 
and Lilies," pubhshed in 1864. It consists of three lec- 
tures on reading, woman's education, and the mystery of 
life. These lectures were written with great eafnestness, 
and are filled with sage counsel and noble thought. In 
them Ruskin gave of his best. In the last, which is per- 
vaded by a pathetic sadness, he declares the purpose of 
life to be service. '' The greatest of all the mysteries of 
life, and the most terrible," he says, ''is the corruption 
of even the sincerest religion, which is not founded on 
rational, effective, humble, and helpful action. Helpful 
action, observe ! for there is just one law, which obeyed, 
keeps all religions pure — forgotten, makes them all false. 
Whenever in any religious faith, dark or bright, we allow 
our minds to dwell upon the points in which we differ 
from other people, we are wrong, and in the devil's 
power." 

Another deservedly popular work, which appeared the 
year after "Sesame and Lilies," is "The Crown of Wild 
Olive." It is likewise made up of lectures, which treat 
of work, traffic, and war. Two years later appeared 
"Time and Tide," a series of twenty-five letters to a work- 



66S ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

ingman, in which Ruskin expressed his views fully and 
fearlessly on a variety of subjects — cooperation, content- 
ment, pleasure, education, marriage — that he thought 
might be helpful to the laboring classes of England. It 
should not be passed over by any one who would under- 
stand his social and ethical views. It sets forth an ideal 
state of society, which must wait yet a long time for reali- 
zation. 

Ruskin was an educational reformer. Many views ad- 
vocated by him three or four decades ago have since been 
adopted in the schools of England and America. He 
favored popular education and emphasized the importance 
of physical training. He argued for a closer relation be- 
tween the courses of study and the duties of practical life. 
He attached chief importance to the ethical element of 
education, which he defined as " the leading human souls 
to what is best, and making what is best out of them." He 
favored the higher education of women, and pronounced 
it foolishly wrong to think of her only as "the shadow 
and attendant image of her lord, owing him a thoughtless 
and servile obedience, and supported altogether in her 
weakness by the preeminence of his fortitude." 

The career of our author cannot be followed further in 
detail. As long as his health permitted, he continued to 
lead the same laborious life. He gave much time to bot- 
any and geology. Almost every year he delivered lectures 
enough to make a volume. In 1869 he was elected Slade 
Professor of Fine Arts at Oxford, a position to which, 
during the three terms of his incumbency, he devoted 
much conscientious labor. His first course was entitled 
" Lectures on Art," in which, among other things, he dis- 




e = 



O __ 3 



^ ^ G 



- i; s 



o 



en 



JOHN RUSK IN. 669 

cusses the relation of art to religion, to morals, and to use. 
This work is noteworthy as presenting his matured views 
in careful academic form. Other courses are called 
" Aratra Pentelici " and **The Pleasures of England." 

In 1 87 1 Ruskin purchased a property in the Lake Dis- 
trict, known as Brantwood, and picturesquely situated on 
Coniston Water. He fitted it up tastefully and lived there 
until his death. On its walls may be seen choice engrav- 
ings and paintings, — a Diirer, two or three old Venetian 
heads, and Hunts, Prouts, and Turners in abundance. 
Here he wrote " Praeterita," an autobiography that brings 
before us the earlier part of his life with wonderful vivid- 
ness. His last years, so full of varied and important 
interests, have been clouded by repeated attacks of mental 
disease. At last the giant has been forced to yield — the 
zealous prophet to hush his voice ; and, soothed by the 
tenderness that reverent love inspires, he has answered 
his summons hom.e. 

In forming an estimate of his work, it must be admitted 
that Ruskin had too much ardor to be a judicious critic. 
He has sometimes allowed his affections or his prejudices 
to sway his judgment; he has sometimes taken extreme 
and untenable positions. His vivid imagination has 
showed only what he wanted to see. While holding 
many advanced or radical ideas, he has been essentially • 
a Tory and conservative. He had a romantic sympathy 
with the Middle Ages. He had an unreasonable preju- 
dice against America; and his love of art and nature made 
him unfriendly to the commercial and manufacturing 
developments of the century. 

He had no small share of the eccentricity of genius. 



6/0 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

This fact is seen, not only in the impracticable character 
of some of his social reforms, but also in the singular 
freaks in which he sometimes indulged. While a pro- 
fessor of fine arts at Oxford he took lessons in stone-break- 
ing, and then went with his students to mend a piece of 
muddy road. " But the quite happiest bit of manual work 
I ever did," he tells us in " Praeterita," *' was for my 
mother in the old inn at Sixt, where she alleged the stone 
staircase to have become unpleasantly dirty since last 
year. Nobody in the inn appearing to think it possible 
to wash it, I brought the necessary buckets of water from 
the yard myself, poured them into beautiful image of 
Versailles water-works down the fifteen or twenty steps 
of the great staircase, and with the strongest broom I 
could find cleaned every step into its corners. It was 
quite lovely work to dash the water and drive the mud 
from each, with accumulating splash, down to the next 
one." 

But whatever faults or limitations may be discovered in 
Ruskin, he stands as one of the great figures of English 
literature in the Victorian Age. His rich gifts were 
unselfishly devoted, in many ways, to the uplifting and 
advancement of his fellow-men. Nearly the whole of his 
inherited fortune of a million dollars was spent in benevo- 
lent enterprises and in charity. In a style unsurpassed 
in richness of diction and eloquence of form, he bravely 
upheld what he regarded as truth, not only in art, but also 
in the lives of men. 



I 



I 



I 



INDEX TO MAR 



Author. 

Addison 

Arnold, Matthew . 

Bacon 

Bronte 

Browning, E. B. . . 

Browning, Robert 
Bunyan 

Burns 

Byron 

Carlyle 

Chaucer 

Coleridge 

Cowper 

De Quincey 

Dickens 

Dryden 

Eliot 

Gibbon 

Goldsmith 

Johnson, Samuel . 
Macaulay 

Milton 

Pope 

Ruskin 

Scott 

Shakespeare 

Shelley 

Spenser 

Swift 

Tennyson 

Thackeray 

Wordsworth 



Birthplace (b). 



Milston. 
Laleham. 
London. 
Thornton. 

Durham. 

London. 
Elstow. 

Ayr. 

London. 



Landport. 

Aldwinkle. 

Nuneaton. 

Putney. 

Pallas, Ireland. 
Lichfield. 
Rothley Temple. 

London. 
London. 
London. 



G- 
I- 
I— 

F— 

G- 



I-i 

I— I 

C- 
I— I 



Ecclefechan. E 

London. I 

Ottery St. Mary D 
Great Berkhamp 

tonstead. 

Manchester. F 



I- 



H- 

I- 

G- 



— 7 

-13 

- 9 

- 9 



Abiding-Place while 
Writing (1). 



London. 
Harrow. 
St. Albans. 
Haworth. 

London. 

Florence, Italy, 
f London. 
I Florence, Italy. 
Bedford. 

{Ayrshire. 
Edinburgh. 
Dumfries. 



I-ii 

H-ii 

I-ii 

F- 6 

I-: 



'-} 



Newstead Abbey G— 8 
Switzerland and Italy. 



London. 
London. 
Keswick. 



I— II 
I— II 

E-4 



I— It 



G- 
H- 

I- 
. I- 



Edinburgh. E- 

Stratford-on-Avon. G - 



Field Place. 
London. 
Dublin, Ireland. 

Somersby. 
Calcutta, India. 
Cockermouth. 



—13 



I— 



E-4 



H— ID 

E- 

E- 
I— II 
I-II 
I-II 



-:l 



Olney. 

Grasmere. 

Edinburgh. 
London. 
London. 
London. 

{London. I- 
Lausanne, Switzer 
land. 

London. I — 11 

London. I — 11 

London. I — 11 

f Horton. H— 11 ) 

I London. I — 11 j 

f London. I — 

I Twickenham. I — 

f London. I — 11 ) 

I Brantwood. E — 5 j 

Abbotsford. E— 2 

London. I — 11 

j Bishopsgate. I — 12 
( Switzerland and Italy. 

London. I — 

f London. I -11 
I Dublin, Ireland. 



f Farringford. 
I Aldworth. 
London, 
f Grasmere. 
I Rydal Mount. 



G-13 

H-12 

I-] 

E-4 

E-4 



Place of De.\th (d). 



London. 
Liverpool. 
London. 
Haworth. 

Florence, Italy. 

Venice, Italy. 
London. 

Dumfries. 



I-II 
E-7 
I-II 

F— 6 



I-II 
D- 3 



Missolonghi, Greece. 

Londo«. I — II 

London. I — n 

London. I — n 



East Dereham. 

Edinburgh. 

Gadshill. 
London. 
London. 



J- 9 
E— I 

J-12 
I— II 
I— II 

I— II 

I-II 
I-II 
I-II 

I— II 
I-II 

E-s 

E— 2 

Stratford-on-Avon. G — 10 

Bay of Spezia, Italy. 
London I — 11 

Dublin, Ireland. 

Aldworth. H— 12 

London. I — n 

Rydal Mount. E— 4 



London. 

London. 
London. 
London. 

London. 

Twickenham. 

Brantwood. 
Abbotsford. 



APPENDIX. 

BOOKS OF REFERENCE. 

A BRIEF list of works of reference, including important review and 
magazine articles, is here appended for the general and special study of 
English literature. The list is longer than any one, except a specialist, 
is likely to need. The emphasis of study should be placed, not on what 
critics have said about an author, but on what the author himself has 
written. A good biography or two, with several review articles, will 
usually be found sufficient to place the student in a position for the 
serious study of a great writer. Elaborate lists of reference will be 
found in Welsh's " English Masterpiece Course," and in Poole's 
'^ Index." 

General Works. 

Green's " History of the English People." 

Macaulay's " History of England." 

Turner's " History of the Anglo-Saxons." 

Palgrave's "History of the Anglo-Saxons." 

Conybeare's " Illustrations of Anglo-Saxon Poetry." 

Corson's "Handbook of Anglo-Saxon and Early English." 

Marsh's "Origin and History of the English Language." 

Lounsbury's "History of the English Language." 

Warton's " History of English Poetry." 

Percy's " Reliques of Ancient English Poetry." 

Brooke's " History of Early English Literature." 

Morley's "English Writers." 

Taine's " Enghsh Literature." 

Morley's "English Men of Letters." 

Robertson's "Great Writers." 

Bascom's " Philosophy of English Literature." 

" Encyclopedia Britannica." 

671 



6/2 APPENDIX. 

Chaucer. 

Skeat's "Works of Chaucer." 

Morris's "Chaucer." 

Lounsbury's " Studies in Chaucer." 

Ward's " Life of Chaucer" (English Men of Letters). 

LowelPs "My Study Windows." 

Edinbm'gh Revieiv^ vol. 3 : 437 (Sir Walter Scott). 

Atlantic Monthly., 40: 270 (Lounsbury). 

LitteWs Living Age., 1 10 : 738 (Brooke). 

Spenser. 
Hillard's " Spenser's Works." 
Todd's "Spenser's Works." 

Church's "Life of Spenser" (English Men of Letters). 
Whipple's "• Literature of the Age of Elizabeth." 
Lowell's "Among My Books." 
Edinburgh Review., 7 : 203 (Sir Walter Scott). 

LitteWs Living Age, 141 : 771 (Dowden). Also 145 : 814; 164: 579; 
209: 154. 

Shakespeare. 

Hudson's or Rolfe's " Shakespeare." 

Wilder's " Life of Shakespeare." 

Dowden's "Shakespeare, His Mind and Art." 

Hudson's " Shakespeare, His Life, Art, and Characters." 

Knight's "Life of Shakespeare." 

Jameson's (Mrs.) "Characteristics of Women." 

Lewes's " Women of Shakespeare " (Translated from German). 

Ulrici's " Shakespeare's Dramatic Art." 

Winter's " Shakespeare's England." 

Coleridge's " Lectures and Notes on Shakespeare." 

White's "Studies in Shakespeare." 

Corson's "Introduction to the Study of Shakespeare." 

Atlantic Monthly^ 55 : 387(Clapp) ; 3:111 (Lowell). 

Centujy Magazine., 29 : 780. 

LitteWs Living Age, 148 : 792 ; 165 : 405 (Dowden). 

Bacon. 
Montagu's " Works of Bacon." 
Craik's " Bacon, His Writings and His Philosophy." 



APPENDIX. 673 

NichoFs " Francis Bacon : His Life and Philosophy." 

Church's " Life of Bacon " (EngUsh Men of Letters). 

Whately's " Bacon's Essays with Annotations.'' 

Macaulay's "Essay on Bacon." 

Whipple's " Literature of the Age of Elizabeth." 

North American Review^ 56: 59 (Bowen) ; 93 : 149 (Giles). 

LitteWs Living Age, 69 : 5 15 ; 78 : 579 ; 139 : 91. 

Milton. 

Masson's '* Life and Times of Milton." 

Pattison's "Life of Milton " (English Men of Letters). 

Garnett's "Life of Milton" (Great Writers Series). 

Matthew Arnold's " Mixed Essays." 

Channing's " Character and Writings of Milton." 

Johnson's " Lives of the Poets." 

Macaulay's " Essay on Milton." 

Lowell's " Among My Books." 

Addison's " Spectator." 

North American Review, 47 : 56 (Emerson). 

LitteWs Living Age, 118 : 643 (Bayne) ; 125 : 323 (Pattison). 

New Englajidery 42 : 196 (Himes). 

Century Magazine, 14: 53 (M. Arnold). 

BUNYAN. 

Southey's " Life of Bunyan." 

Brown's "John Bunyan : His Life, Times, and Work." 

Froude's " Life of Bunyan " (English Men of Letters). 

Venable's " Life of Bunyan" (Great Writers Series). 

Cheever's " Lectures on the Life and Times of Bunyan." 

Macaulay's " Essay on Bunyan." 

North American Review, 36 : 449. 

LitteWs Living Age, 33 : 153 ; 171 : 276 (Gold win Smith). 

Dryden. 
Mitford's "Dryden's Works." 

Saintsbury's " Life of Dryden " (English Men of Letters). 
Johnson's " Lives of the Poets." 
Macaulay's " Essay on Dryden." 
Lowell's " Among My Books." 
LitteWs Living Age, 45 : 432 ; 139 : 579 ; 185 : 312 (Evans). 

2X 



6/4 APPENDIX, 

Addison. 

Courthope's "Life of Addison " (English Men of Letters). 

Carruthers's " Pope\s Life and Letters." 

Johnson's " Lives of the Poets." 

Dobson's " Life of Steele." 

De Quincey's " Literary Reminiscences." 

Thackeray's " English Humorists." 

Macaulay's " Essays." 

North American Review^ 79 : 90 (Tuckerman) ; 64 : 314 (Peabody). 

Century Magazme, 26: 703 (Oliphant). 

LitteWs Living Age, 105 : 819 ; 170 : 776. 

Pope. 

Carruthers's " Pope's Life and Letters." 
Stephen's " Life of Pope" (English Men of Letters). 
Johnson's " Lives of the Poets." 
Thackeray's " English Humorists." 
Lowell's " My Study Windows." 
Scribner'^s Magazine, 3 : 533 (Dobson). 

LittelVs Living Age, 65 : 330 ; 98 : 643 (Oliphant) ; 163 : 515, 613 ; 184 
195 (Traill). 

Swift. 

Orrery's " Life and Writings of Swift." 

Craik's " Life of Swift." 

Scott's " Life of Swift." 

Stephen's " Life of Swift " (English Men of Letters). 

Johnson's " Lives of the Poets." 

Thackeray's "English Humorists." 

Macaulay's " Essays." 

North American Review, 106 : 68 ; 123 : 170 (Hill). 

LitteWs Living Age, 45 : 303 (Masson) ; 128 : 5 1 5 ; 104 : 707 ; 95 : 369. 

Johnson. 

Boswell's " Life of Johnson." 

Stephen's "Life of Johnson" (English Men of Letters). 

Grant's "Samuel Johnson" (Great Writers Series). 

Carlyle's " Boswell's Life of Johnson." 

Macaulay's " Essay on Johnson." 



APPENDIX. 675 

Harper'^s Magazine, 14: 483 (Macaulay) ; 82 : 927 (Besant). 
Edinburgh Review, 7 : 436 (Jeffrey). 

LittelPs Livijig Age, 138 : 86 (M. Arnold) ; 138 : 541 (Cyples) ; 121 : 
91 (Stephen); 164:425 (Birrell) ; 163:803 (Gosse). 

Goldsmith. 

Forster's " Life and Times of Goldsmith.'" 

Irving's " Life of Goldsmith." 

Black's " Life of Goldsmith " (English Men of Letters). 

Dobson's ^' Life of Goldsmith " (Great Writers Series). 

Macaulay's " Essays." 

Thackeray's " English Humorists." 

No7'th A7nerican Review, 45 : 91 (Channing) ; 8 : 309 (Dana). 

LittelVs Living Age, 18 : 345 (Lytton) ; 43 : 531. 

Gibbon. 

Morison's " Life of Gibbon " (English Men of Letters). 

Gibbon's " Autobiography." 

Atlantic Monthly, 41 : 99 (Howells). 

igth Century, 36: 146 (F. Harrison). 

LitteWs Living Age, 53 : 449 (Rogers) ; 35 : 4^7 5 203 : 669 ; 210 : 416. 

COWPER. 

Taylor's " Life of Cowper." 

Wright's '' Life of WiUiam Cowper." 

Smith's " Life of Cowper" (English Men of Letters). 

North American Review, 38 : i (Peabody) ; 44 : 29 (Channing) ; 2 : 

233 (W. Phillips) ; 19: 435 (Ware). 
LittelVs Living Age, no : 67 (Forrest) ; no : 376 ;' 127 : 323 ; 86 : 563 ; 

72:259; 182:659 (Bailey); 189:546 (Rae); 191:815 (Bailey); 

204: 195 (Alice Law). 

Burns. 

Lockhart's " Life of Robert Burns." 

Chambers's '' Life and Works of Robert Burns." 

Shairp's " Life of Burns " (English Men of Letters). 

Blackie's "Life of Robert Burns" (Great Writers Series). 

Carlyle's " Essay on Burns." 

North American Review, 42 : 66 (Peabody) ; 143 : 427 (W. Whitman). 



(^16 APPENDIX. 

LitteWs Living Age ^ 113 : 3 ; 206: 515 (Price). 

Atlantic Motithly^ 44: 502 (Shairp) ; 6: 385 (N. Hawthorne). 

Scott. 
Lockhart's "Life of Scott." 

Hutton s " Life of Scott " (English Men of Letters). 
Yonge's " Life of Scott" (Great Writers Series). 
Carlyle's '" Essay on Scott." 
Irving's " Abbotsford." 
Hunneweirs " Lands of Scott." 
Lang's "Letters to Dead Authors." 
North American Review^ 32 : 386 (Peabody) ; 46 : 431 (Prescott); 

87 : 293 (Brown) ; 99 : 580 (H. James, Jr.). 
igth Century^ 7-941 (Ruskin) . 
LitteWs Livi7ig Age, 110:579 (Stephen); 139:298 (Wedgewood) : 

96: 541 ; 188: 177 (Rae) ; 205 : 515. 
Harper'^ s Magazine, 44: 321 (Conway). 
Atlantic Monthly, 60 : 134 ; 69 : 139. 

Byron. 
Moore's " Life of Byron." 

NichoFs " Life of Byron " (English Men of Letters). 
Noel's ''Life of Lord Byron" (Great Writers Series). 
Arnold's (Matthew) "Essays in Criticism." 
Macaulay's "Essays." 

Bayne's "Essays in Biography and Criticism." 
Dowden's " Studies in Literature." 
Scott's "Critical and Miscellaneous Essays." 
Lowell's "Among My Books." 

No7'th American Review, 31 : 167 (Peabody) ; 5 : 98 (Phillips). 
Edinburgh Review, 27 : 277 (Jeffrey). 
Litteirs Living Age, I ^<^: i^ii'-, 114:387. 

Wordsworth. 

Knight's "Life of Wordsworth " (3 vols.). 

Symington's "Wordsworth, His Life and Works." 

Myers's "Life of Wordsworth " (English Men of Letters). 

Coleridge's "Works." 

De Quincey's " Literary Reminiscences." 

Hutton's "Essays in Literary Criticism." 



APPENDIX. 677 \ 

! 

i 

Lowell's "My Study Windows." : 

Stephen's ''Hours in a Library." I 

LitteWs Living Age, 128 : 195 (Dowden) ; 121 : 323 (Pater) ; 142 : 323 

(M.Arnold); 184 : 123 (Bromley) ; 207:336. 
igth Century, 26: 435 (Minto) ; 15 : 583 (Swinburne). 
Atlantic Monthly, 45 : 241 (Cranch). 

North Af?ierican Review, 59 : 352 (Whipple). ' 

Coleridge. 1 

I 

Campbell's "Samuel Taylor Coleridge." j 

Traill's " Life of Coleridge " (English Men of Letters). \ 

Caine's " Life of Coleridge " (Great Writers Series). i 

Carlyle's " Life of Sterling." 

De Ouincey's " Literary Reminiscences." 

Coleridge's "' Biographia Literaria." ; 

Bayne's "Essays in Biography and Criticism." j 

Atlantic Monthly, 45 : 843 (Lathrop). \ 

Edi7iburgh Review, 28: 488 (Hazlitt). 

Litteirs Livi7igAge,()Z:s^S\ 111:643; 167 : 515 ; 164: 557 ; 163 : 433 ; ^ 

183 : 131 (Dowden). \ 

Shelley. .| 

Dowden's " Life of Shelley." \ 

Symond's "Life of Shelley" (English Men of Letters). i 

Sharp's " Life of Shelley " (Great Writers Series) . ' 

Shelley's (Mrs.) " Shelley Memorials." ] 

De Ouincey's " Essays on the Poets." j 

Calvert's " Coleridge, Shelley, and Goethe." | 

Rabbe's " Shelley : the Man and the Poet." ; 

Mark Twain's "Defence of Harriet Shelley" in " How to Tell a Story, '; 

and Other Essays." '! 

Trelawny's " Records of Shelley, Byron, and the Author." ! 

Atlantic Monthly, 70 : 106, 391 (Scudder) ; 59 : 559. j 

Century Magazine, 22 : 622 (Woodberry). .1 

North American Review, 146: 104 (Gannett). 1 

LittelPs Living Age, 155 : 387 ; 176: 323 (M. Arnold). * I 

De Quincey. \ 

Page's "De Quincey's Life and Writings." i 

Masson's " Life of De Quincey " (English Men of Letters). i 



6/8 APPENDIX. 

De Quincey's "Literary Reminiscences." 
Stephen's " Hours in a Library." 
Bayne's "Essays in Biography and Criticism." 
Japp's "De Quincey Memorials." 

Atlantic Monthly, 12 : 345 (Alden) ; 40 : 569 (Lathrop). 
North A?nerican Review, 88 : 113 (Phillips) ; 74: 425 (Brown). 
Century Magazine, 19:853 (Japp). 
Harper's Monthly, 80 • 446 (Hogg) . 

LittelVs Living Age, 57 : 918 ; 68 : 323, 451 ; 109 : 278 (Stephen) ; 170 : 
707 (Japp). 

Macaulay. 

Trevelyan's " Life and Letters of Macaulay." 
Morison's " Life of Macaulay " (English Men of Letters). 
Arnold's (M.) "Mixed Essays." 
McCarthy's " History of Our Own Times." 
Harrison's " Early Victorian Literature." 
Bayne's "Essays in Biography and Criticism." 
Harper's Monthly, 53 : 85, 238 (Stoddard) ; 58 : 605 (Lloyd). 
North American Review, 93 : 418 (C. C. Smith). 

LittelVs Living Age, 67 : 387 ; 129 : 515 ; 129 : 482 (Morley) ; 129 : 805 
(Stephen); 130: 515 (Gladstone); 149: 195 (Myers). 

Charlotte Bronte. 

Gaskell's (Mrs.) " Life of Charlotte Brontd." - 

Birreirs " Charlotte Bronte." 

Harrison's " Early Victorian Literature." 

N'orth American Review, 67 : 354 (Whipple) ; 85 : 293 (Mrs. Sweat). 

LittelVs Living Age, 53 : 385, 'j']'] ; 54 : 680 ; 55 : 385 ; 130 : 801 (Reid) ; 

136 : 23 (Stephen) ; 153 : 368 (Armitt) ; 184 : 429 (Walford) ; 190 : 

241, 819 (Williams). 

Thackeray. 

Trollope's "Life of Thackeray " (English Men of Letters). 
Merivale and Marzial's " Life of Thackeray" (Great Writers Series). 
Fields's "Yesterdays with Authors." 
Lanier's " The English Novel." 
Masson's " British Novelists." 
McCarthy's " History of Our Own Times." 



APPENDIX. 679 

Harrison's " Early Victorian Literature." 
Atlantic Mojithly, 13 : 371 (B. Taylor) ; 60 : 853. 
Forum, 14: 503 (Mallock). 

Harper'^s Monthly, 49 : 533 (Stoddard) ; 54 : 256 (Lunt). 
North American Review, JJ : 199 (Kirk). 

Litteirs Living Age, Zo'. 4.J6 (Dickens); 144:157 (Reed); 178:159 
(Merivale) ; 190 : 44 (Lang) ; 198 : 504 (Thackeray). 

Dickens. 

Forster's " Life of Charles Dickens." 
Ward's " Life of Dickens " (English Men of Letters). 
Marzial's "Life of Dickens " (Great Writers Series). 
Davey's "Darwin, Carlyle, and Dickens." 
Fields's "Yesterdays with Authors." 
Harrison's " Early Victorian Literature." 
Lanier's "The English Novel." 
McCarthy's " History of Our Own Times." 
Atlantic Monthly, 26: 476, 591 (Putnam) ; 39: 462 (Whipple). 
Harper'' s Monthly, 41 : 610 (Conway). 
Mnnsey, 10 : 647 (Hurd). 

North Ame?'ican Review, 56 : 212 (Felton) ; 69 : 383 (Whipple). 
LitteWs Living Age, no : 2f ; 144 : 3 (Minto) ; 155 : 793 (Morris) ; 
178 : 159 (Merivale). 

George Eliot. 

Cross's "George Eliot's Life." 

Browning's (Oscar) "Life of George Eliot" (Great Writers Series). 
Blind's "George Eliot" (Famous Women Series). 
Brown's " Ethics of George Eliot." 
Woolson's (Mrs.) "George Eliot and Her Heroines." 
Dowden's "Studies in Literature." 
Lanier's " The English Novel." 
Harrison's "Early Victorian Literature." 
Atlantic Monthly, 38 : 684 (James) ; 55 : 668 (James). 
Harper'' s Monthly, 62 : 912 (Paul). 

North American Review, 103 : 557 (Sedgwick) ; 124: 31 (Whipple). 
Scribner''s Magazine, 8 : 685 (Wilkinson). 

LitteWs Living Age, 115 : 100 (Dowden) ; 148: 731 (Stephen); 148: 
651; 149:791 (Simcox) ; 160:762; 164:533. 



680 APPENDIX. 

E. B. Browning. 

Ingram's "Elizabeth Barrett Browning." 

Orr's (Mrs.) "Life of Browning." 

Sharp's "Life of Browning" (Great Writers Series). 

Bayne's " Two Great Englishwomen." 

Stedman's "Victorian Poets." 

LowelPs "My Study Windows." 

Corson's "Introduction to Browning." 

Atlafitic Monthly, 8 : 368 (K. Field). 

North American Review, 85 : 415 (Everett). 

Scribner''s Magazine, J : loi (Stedman). 

LittelVs Living Age, 52 : 427 ; 155 : 416; 181 : 643 ; 204 : 311 (Corkran). 

Browning. 

Orr's (Mrs.) "Life and Letters of Browning." 

Sharp's "Life of Browning" (Great Writers Series). 

Ritchie's (Mrs.) "Records of Tennyson, Ruskin, and Browning." 

Dowden's " Studies in Literature." 

Stedman's "Victorian Poets." 

Alexander's " Introduction to Browning." 

Cooke's " Brownino: Guide-Book. " 

Corson's " Introduction to Browning." 

Forster's " Four Great Teachers : Ruskin, Carlyle, Emerson, and 
Browning." 

Berdoe's " Browning's Message to His Time." 

Atlantic Monthly, 65 : 243 ; 68 : 263. 

Scribner's Magazine^ 9: 127 (Stedman). 

LittelVs Living Age, 122:67 (Orr) ; 159:771 (Noel); 184:290 
(Brooke); 184:297 (Traill); 184:372 (Gosse) ; 184:660 (Hut- 
ton) ; 190: 563 (Lang). 

Tennyson. 

Tennyson's " Lord Tennyson : a Memoir." 

Waugh's "Alfred, Lord Tennyson." 

Jenning's " Lord Tennyson." 

Brooke's "Tennyson, His Art and Relation to Modern Life." 

Van Dyke's " Poetry of Tennyson." 

Walter's "Tennyson, Poet, Philosopher, Idealist." 



APPENDIX. 68 1 ; 

Ritchie's (Mrs.) " Records of Tennyson, Ruskin, and Browning." \ 

Dowden's " Studies in Literature." \ 
Bagehot's "Literary Studies." 

Stedman's "Victorian Poets." ] 

Whipple's "Essays and Reviews." | 

Atlantic Monthly^ 44 : 356. ' 

Century Magazine^ 16: 515 (Van Dyke) ; 20: 502 (Van Dyke). i 

Harper's Monthly, 68 : 21 (Ritchie) ; 86 : 309 (Fields). \ 

North Atnericati Review, 90: i (Everett) ; 133 : 82 (Stoddard). -I 

Review of Reviews, 6: 557 (Stead). - 
Scrib?ier''s Magazine,^: 100, 160 (Stedman). 

LittelPs Living Age, 63 : 579; 146 : 483, 544; 147 : 786; 195 : 446- 
196: 415 (Traill). 

Carlyle. 
Froude's "Life of Carlyle." 

NichoPs " Life of Carlyle " (English Men of Letters). 
Garnett's " Life of Carlyle" (Great Writers Series). 

Masson's " Carlyle, Personally and in His Writings." \ 

Forster's " Four Great Teachers : Ruskin, Carlyle, Emerson, and \ 

Browning." ! 

Carlyle's " Reminiscences." \ 

Mead's " The Philosophy of Carlyle." ] 

Davey's "Darwin, Carlyle, and Dickens." i 

Dowden's " Studies in Literature." j 

Harrison's "Early Victorian Literature." : 

Norton's " Correspondence of Emerson and Carlyle." ; 
Atlantic Monthly, 51 : 320, 560 ; 55 : 421 ; 71 : 287. 
Centjiry Magazine, 4: 530 (Burroughs). 

Harper's Monthly, 48 : 726 (Wilson) ; 62 : 888 (Conway). ■■ 

North American Review, 102:419 (Lowell); 136:431 (Whipple); , 

140: 9 (F. Harrison). i 

LiitelVs Living Age, 156 : 438 (Morrison); 170 : 259 (Max Miiller); % 

184: 323 (Tyndall); 191 : 758 (Lecky). \ 

Matthew Arnold. 

Russell's "Letters of Matthew Arnold." 

Hutton's " Essays, Theological and Literary." 

Shairp's " Religion and Culture." \ 

Atlantic Monthly, 53 : 641. \ 



682 APPENDIX. 

Century Magazine, i : 849 (Lang) . 

Forum, 20 : 616. 

Scribner's Magazine, 4:537 (Birrell); 7:463 (Stedman) ; 18:281 

(Merriam). 
LittelVs Living Age, 17 j : 545 (Myers); 178 : 88 (Traill); 182 : 771 

(Lord Coleridge); 200:90 (Stephen); 207:771 (Gladstone); 

208 : 46 (A. Austin); 209 : 362 (F. H,arrison). 

RUSKIN. 

Collingwood's "Life of John Ruskin." 

Mather's "Life and Teachings of John Ruskin." 

Ruskin's "Praeterita." 

Japp's "Three Great Teachers of Our Time." 

Bayne's "Lessons from My Masters." 

Baillie's " Aspects of the Thought and Teaching of John Ruskin." 

Century Magazine, 13 : 357 (Stillman). 

Harper'' s Monthly, 80 : 578 (Ritchie). 

LittelVs Living Age, 178 : 50 ; 187 : 407 ; 198 : 813 ; 199 : 131. 



APPENDIX. 683 



BOOKS WORTH READING 

The following list of books is intended to include a large number of 
standard works from the various periods of English literature. All the 
works placed in the list, except a few minor poems, are mentioned in 
the text, where more or less information concerning them is given. It 
is hoped that the list will serve as a guide to those who are often at a 
loss to know what to read or study, and who, for lack of judicious guid- 
ance, waste much time on what is poor or hurtful literature. The works 
specially commended to the student are printed in small capitals. 
Many excellent works in literary biography and criticism 'have been 
given in the foregoing list of " Books of Reference." 

"Beowulf" (Earle's, Garnetfs, or HalPs translation). 

Bede's " Ecclesiastical History," with Anglo-Saxon Chronicle (Bohn). 

Landand's " Piers the Plowman." 

Gower's "Confessio Amantis." 

Chaucer^s " Complevnt unto Pite," " Truth," " Compleynt to his Purs," 

" Prologue," " Knight's Tale," " Clerk's Tale," " Nonne Prestes 

Tale," " Wife of Bath's Tale." 
More's " Utopia." 

Hooker's "Ecclesiastical Polity," Book I. 
Sidney's " Defense of Poesie." 
"Old English Ballads" (Percy's Reliques). 
"Best Elizabethan Plays" (Thayer). 
Spenser^s " Shepherd's Calendar," " Colin Clout's Come Home Again," 

"Mother Hubbard's Tale," " Epithalamion," "Faery Queene," 

Book I. 
Bacon's " Essays," " Advancement of Learning," "Novum Organum." 
Shakespeare's "King Henry IV.," "Merry Wives of Windsor," 
"Merchant of Venice," " Midsummer Night's Dream," "Tam- 
ing of the Shrew," "Julius Caesar," "Antony and Cleopatra," 
" Romeo and Juliet," " Hamlet," " Othello," " Macbeth," 
" King Lear," etc. 



684 APPENDIX. 

Walton's " Complete Angler." 

Taylor's " Holy Living and Dying." 

Baxter's '"■ Saints' Everlasting Rest " and " Reformed Pastor." 

Clarendon's "History of the Rebellion." 

Milton's "Comus," "L'Allegro," '-II Penseroso," " Lycidas," 
'" Areop A GiTiCA." -^^ Tractate on Education," "Samson Ago- 
NiSTES," " Paradise Lost," " Paradise Regained." 

Bunyan's " Pilgrim's Progress." 

Evelyn's " Diary." 

Pepys's " Diary." 

Locke's " Thoughts Concerning Education " and " Essay on the Human 
Understanding." 

Dryden's " Absalom and Achitophel," " Religio Laici," " Hind 
and Panther," " Aeneid," " Palamon and Arcite," " Alexan- 
aER's Feast." 

Addison's " Cato," " Hymns," and " Spectator." 

Pope's "Essay on Criticism," "Rape of the Lock," "Iliad," "Essay 
ON Man," etc. 

Swift's " Battle of the Books," " Tale of a Tub," " Gulliver's Trav- 
els," "Journal to Stella." 

Sheridan's " The Rivals " and " School for Scandal." 

Burke's " Speeches " and " Reflections on the Revolution in France." 

Hume's " History of England." 

Robertson's " History of Scotland " and " History of Charles V." 

Gibbon's "Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire" and "Auto- 
biography." 

Akenside's " Pleasures of the Imagination." 

Gray's " Poems," particularly " Distant Prospect of Eton Col- 
lege," " Elegy in a Country Church Yard," and " Prog- 
ress OF Poesy." 

Collins's " Ode on the Death of Thomson," " Ode to Evening," and 
" Ode on the Passions." 

Crabbe's " The Village." 

Shenstone's " The School-Mistress." 

Warton's " History of English Poetry." 

Percy's " Rehques of Ancient Enghsh Poetry." 

Boswell's " Life of Johnson." 

Smith's "Wealth of Nations." 

Macpherson's " Ossian." 

Beattie's " Minstrel." 



APPENDIX. 685 

Johnson^s " Vanity of Human Wishes," " Rambler," " Rasselas," and 
'- Lives of the Poets." 

Goldsmith's "Traveller," "Deserted Village," "The Good- 
Natured Man," " She Stoops to Conquer," and " Vicar of 
Wakefield." 

Cowper's "The Task," "Iliad," "John Gilpin," "Friendship," 
" Verses," " My Mother's Picture," " The Poplar Field," " The 
Shrubbery," " The Castaway," and " Letters." 

Burns's " Cotter's Saturday Night," " Mary Morison," " To a 
Mouse," " Address to the Deil," " Man was Made to Mourn," 
" Mountain Daisy," " A Man's a Man for a' That," " On 
Seeing a Wounded Hare," " Tale o' Tam O'Shanter," " To 
Mary in Heaven," " Bruce's Address," " Epistle to a Young 
Friend," "Address to the Unco Guid," etc. 

Lamb's " Tales from Shakespeare " and " Essays of Elia." 

Lockhart's " Life of Burns " and " Life of Scott." 

Hallam's " Middle Ages " and '' Literature of Europe." 

Mitford's "History of Greece." 

Jane Austen's " Sense and Sensibility," " Pride and Prejudice," 
and " Emma." 

Jane Porter's "Thaddeus of Warsaw" and "The Scottish Chiefs." 

Mrs. Hemans's "Poems." 

Maria Edgevvorth's "Castle Rackrent." 

Campbell's " Pleasures of Hope," " Gertrude of Wyoming," " O'Con- 
nor's Child," "Lochiel's Warning," "Battle of the Bakic," "Ye 
Mariners of England," " Hohenlinden," " Soldier's Dream," 
" Last Man," " Hallowed Ground," etc. 

Keats's " Endymion," " Lamia," " Eve of St. Agnes," " Hyperion," 
"Nightingale," "Grecian Urn," and " Autumn." 

Southey's " Life of Nelson," and select poems, particularly " Lo- 
DORE," "Well of St. Keyne," "Mary the Maid of the 
Inn," "March to Moscow," "The Scholar," "Auld Cloots," 
etc. 

Moore's "Lalla Rookh," "Irish Melodies," and "Life of Byron." 

Hood's " Poems " and " Up the Rhine." 

Keble's " Christian Year." 

Rogers's " Pleasures of Memory." 

Scott's " Lay of the Last Minstrel," " Marmion," " Lady of the 
Lake," " Waverley," " Old Mortality," " Heart of Midlo- 
thian," " Kenilworth," " Ivanhoe," " Quentin Durward," etc. 



6S6 APPENDIX. 

Byron's '' English Bards and Scotch Reviewers," " Childe Har- 
old," " Prisoner of Chillon," " Giaour," " Bride of Abydos," 
"Corsair," "Lara," "Manfred," "The Dream," " Fare' Thee 
Well," "Vision of Judgment," "Hebrew Melodies," etc. 

Wordsworth's "We are Seven," "Expostulation and Reply," "The 
Tables Turned," "Tintern Abbey," "Lucy Gray," "Ruth," 
"Nutting," "Poet's Epitaph," "Michael," "The Happy War- 
rior," " My Heart Leaps Up," " She Was a Phantom of Delight," 
" To the Daisy," " She Dwelt Among the Untrodden Ways," " Ode 
TO Duty,'.' "Ode on Immortality," "The Prelude," "The Ex- 
cursion" (extracts), "Sonnets." 

Coleridge's " Biographia Literaria," " Table Talk," " ^olian Harp," 
"Reflections on Leaving a Place of Retirement," "Religious Mus- 
ings," " The Destiny of Nations," " Ode to France," "To William 
Wordsworth," " The Nightingale," " The Ancient Mariner," 
" Love," " Christabel," " Ode to Dejection," " Hymn before Sun- 
rise," " Wallenstein." 

Shelley's "The Lament," "Hymn to Intellectual Beauty," 
"Alastor," "The Revolt of Islam," " JuHan and Maddalo," 
"Ode to the West Wind," "Prometheus Unbound," "The 
Cenci," " Ode to Naples," " Ode to Liberty," " To a Skylark," 
" The Cloud," " Adonais," " Defence of Poetry." 

De Quincey's "Literary Reminiscences," "Confessions of an 
Opium Eater," "On Murder Considered as One of the 
Fine Arts," " Suspiria de Profundis," " The English Mail Coach," 
" Revolt of the Tartars," " On War," " Style," " Joan of Arc," 
" Autobiographical Sketches." 

Bulwers "Last Days of Pompeii," "My Novel," "The Lady of 
Lyons," "Richelieu," etc. 

Disraeli's " Vivian Grey," " Coningsby," " Endymion," etc. 

Kingsley's " Hypatia," "Westward Ho," " Here ward the Wake,'* 
etc. 

Marryat's "Peter Simple," "Mr. Midshipman Easy," etc. 

Trollope's " The Warden;" " F^ramley Parsonage," " Can You For- 
give Her," " Autobiography," etc. 

Reade's "Peg Woffington," "It is Never too Late to Mend," "The 
Cloister and the Hearth," etc. 

ColUns's " The Woman in White," " No Name," " The Moonstone." 

Stevenson's "Treasure Island," "Kidnapped," "The Master of 
Ballantrae," etc. 



APPENDIX. 687 

Mrs. Craik's "John Halifax, Gentleman," " A Life for a Life," etc. 

Lord Lytton's (Owen Meredith) " Lucile." 

Morris's "Life and Death of Jason" and "Earthly Paradise." 

Rossetti's " Rose Mary," " Blessed Damozel," " Ballad of the White 
Ship," " The King's Tragedy," etc. 

Swinburne's " Atalanta in Calydon," and shorter poems. 

Arnold's (Edwin) " The Light of Asia," " The Light of the World," etc. 

Grote's " History of Greece." 

Thirlwall's " History of Greece." 

Milman's " Latin Christianity." 

Froude's "History of England," "Short Studies on Great Sub- 
jects," " Life of Carlyle," " Life of Erasmus." 

Freeman's " History of the Norman Conquest." 

Lecky's " History of European Morals." 

Green's " History of the English People." 

Alison's " History of Europe." 

Darwin's " Origin of Species " and " Descent of Man." 

Spencer's "First Principles," "Data of Ethics," "The Study* of 
Sociology." 

Huxley's " Lay Sermons " and " Science, Culture, and Other Essays." 

Mill's "Political Economy," "Representative Government," "Subjec- 
tion of Women." 

Miller's "My Schools and School-masters," "Old Red Sandstone." 

Macaulay's " Lays of Ancient Rome," " History of England," and 
" Essays." 

Bronte's "The Professor," "Jane Eyre," " Shirley," " Villette." 

Thackeray's " Memoirs of Yellowplush," " Catharine," " Great Hoggarty 
Diamond," " Barry Lyndon," " The Lucky Speculator," " Novels by 
Eminent Hands," " The Book of Snobs," " Vanity Fair," " Pen- 
DENNis," " Henry Esmond," " The Newcomes," " English 
Humorists." 

Dickens's " Pickwick," " Oliver Twist," " Nicholas Nickleby," 
" Old Curiosity Shop," " Martin Chuzzlewit," " The Christmas 
Carol," " Dombey and Son," " David Copperfield," " Bleak 
House," " Tale of Two Cities," etc. 

George Eliot's " Scenes of Clerical Life," " AdAxM Bede," " The Mill 
on the Floss," "Silas Marner," " Romola," " Middlemarch," 
" Daniel Deronda." 

Mrs. Browning's "Romaunt of Margret," "The Poet's Vow," "Cowper's 
Grave," " Crowned and Buried," " My Heart and I," " A Vision of 



6S8 APPENDIX. 

Poets," '• Wine of Cyprus,^' " Prometheus Bound," " Rhyme of 
THE Duchess May," "The Dead Pan," "The Sleep," "Lady 
Geraldine's Courtship," " Sonnets from the Portuguese," 
"Casa Guidi Windows," "Aurora Leigh," "Napoleon III. in 
Italy," " Italy and the World," etc. 

Browning's "Paracelsus," " Pippa Passes," "My Last Duchess," 
''Laria," "A Death in the Desert," "The Pied Piper of Hame- 
Jin," " How they Brought the Good News from Aix to Ghent," 
"Saul," " Christmas Eve and Easter Day," " Evelyn Hope,'' " Fra 
Lippo Lippi," "By the Fireside," "Strange Medical Experi- 
ences OF Karshish," " The Last Ride Together," " Andrea 
DEL SARTO,""In a Balcony," " Cleon," "Abt Vogler," "Rabbi 
Ben Ezra," " Balaustion's Adventure," etc. 

Tennyson's " Lilian," " Recollections of the Arabian Nights," " Mari- 
ana," " The Poet," " May Queen," " Lady Clara Vere de Vere," 
" The Lotus Eaters," " The Palace of Art," " Morte d' Arthur," 
" The Gardener's Daughter," " Dora," " Locksley Hall," 
" Edward Gray," " Lady Clare," " Ulysses," " The Two Voices," 
" St. Simeon Stylites," " The Princess," " In Memoriam," 
"Maud," "Idyls of the King," "Enoch Arden," "Merlin and 
the Gleam," etc. 

Carlyle's " Life of Schiller," " Life of Sterling," " Richter," " Goethe," 
" Burns," " Voltaire," " Signs of the Times," " Characteristics," 
" Boswell's Life of Johnson," " Sir Walter Scott," " Sar- 
tor Resartus," " French Revolution," " Heroes and Hero- 
Worship," " Past and Present," " Cromwell's Letters and 
Speeches," " Frederick the Great," " Inaugural Address," 
" Reminiscences." 

Arnold's (Matthew) " Sohrab and Rustum," " Balder Dead," 
" Resignation," " A Question," " The Future," " The Grande 
Chartreuse," "• Stagirius," " Human Life," " In Utrumque Para- 
TUS," " Dover Beach," " Lines Written in Kensington Gardens," 
"The Scholar Gypsy," "Memorial Verses," "On Translating 
Homer," " Essays in Criticism," " Culture and Anarchy," 
"Essays in Criticism" (second series), "Discourses in 
America." 

Ruskin's " Modern Painters," " Seven Lamps of Architecture," 
"The Stones of Venice," "Unto this Last," " Munera Pulveris," 
" Sesame and Lilies," " Crown of Wild Olives," " Time and 
• Tide," " Lectures on Art," " Praeterita." 



INDEX. 



Addison, Josepb, sketch of, 229-239; 
humor and cheerfulness, 229 ; scope 
of his writing, 229 ; birth and educa- 
tion, 230; praised by Boileau and 
Dryden, 230; a Whig, 231; travels, 
231; "Letter to Lord Halifax," 232; 
famous hymn, 232 ; "The Campaign," 
233 ; political offices, 234 ; engaged 
on Tatler, 234 ; Spectator, 234-236 ; 
" Cato," 236; relation with Pope and 
Dennis, 237 ; marriage, 238 ; prime 
minister, 239 ; death, 239; Thackeray's 
tribute, 239 ; Pope's satire, 249. 

Age of Johnson, decadent, 275 ; transi- 
tional, 275. 

Age of Scott, favorable to literature, 371. 

Akenside, Mark, 273. 

Alcuin, 9 ; sketch of, 17, 18. 

Alfred the Great, 9 ; sketch of, 28-30. 

Alison, Sir Archibald, 475. 

Anglo-Saxons, invasion of, 13 ; character, 
13 ; language, 20, 21 ; poetry, 22, 27 ; 
literature, 23. 

" Anglo-Saxon Chronicle," 31, 40. 

Arabian learning, 36. 

Arnold, Edwin, 474. 

Arnold, Matthew, sketch of, 639-655 ; no 
biography of, 639 ; his letters, 639 ; 
birth and parentage, 640; at Oxford, 
641 ; his reading, 642 ; school inspec- 
tor, 642 ; marriage, 643 ; poems, 644 ; 
rank as a poet, 645 ; " Sohrab and 
Rustum," 645; "Resignation" and 
other poems, 646, 647 ; Professor of 
Poetry at Oxford, 647; "On Transla- 
ting Homer," 647, 648 ; feeling under 
adverse criticism , 649 ; " Essays in 
Criticism.," 649; patriotism, 650; his 
method, 650 ; " Culture and Anarchy," 
650; culture defined, 651 ; "Philistine" 
and " Barbarian " defined, 651 ; Hellen- 



ism and Hebraism , 652 ; other volumes, 
652 ; religious views, 652, 653 ; visits 
America, 653; "Essays in Criticism," 
second series, 654; death, 654; cri- 
tique, 654, 655. 

Arnold, Thomas, 475, 640. 

Aryan language and its branches, 20. 

Ascham, Roger, 67 ; sketch of, 85-87. 

Augustine introduces Christianity, 14, 15. 

Austen, Jane, 368, 376. 

Bacon, Francis, sketch of, 119-135; as a 
philosopher, 119; attitude toward an- 
cients, 119; end of knowledge, 119; 
Baconian philosophy, 120; parentage, 
120; fortunate period of birth, 121; 
precocity, 121 ; a the university, 121 ; 
criticism of education, 122; on the 
Continent, 123; studies law, 123; in 
Parliament, 124; as orator, 124 ; politi- 
cal disappointments, 124; relation to 
Essex, 124, 125 ; " Essays," 125 ; politi- 
cal preferment, 128; mode of living, 
128; downfall, 129; " Instauratio 
Magna," 130; " Novum Organum," 
131-133; intellectual greatness, 134; 
estimate of his work, 135, 

Baillie, Joanna, 368. 

Ballads, old English, 40; 78-80. 

Barbauld, Anna Letitia, 368, 376. 

" Battle of Brunanburh," 40. 

Baxter, Richard, 153, 161. 

Beattie, James, 279; his " Minstrel," 286. 

Beaumont, Francis, 68, loi ; on Shake- 
speare, 140. 

Bede, 9 ; sketch of, 18, 19. 

"Beowulf," 9; described, 25-27. 

Bible, English, influence of, 74. 

Boccaccio, 39; relation to Chaucer, 59, 
60. 

Boileau, 199. 



2Y 



689 



690 



INDEX. 



" Book of Common Prayer," 74. 

Boswell, James, 274; and Johnson, 288; 
on Goldsmith, 302. 

Boyle, Robert, 195. 

Bronte, Charlotte, sketch of, 504-518 ; 
small figure, 504 ; self-portrayal in her 
works, 504; sorrowful life, 505 ; child- 
hood, 505; Yorkshire people, 506; at 
school, 506 ; penchant for writing, 507 ; 
appearance and manner, 507 ; routine 
at home, 508 ; as governess, 508 ; in 
Brussels, 509 ; tries to open school, 509 ; 
'^ Poems," 510; " The Professor," 510; 
realism, 511 ; " Jane Eyre," 511-513 ; a 
word for women, 513 ; " Shirley," 513 ; 
sensitive to criticism, 514; critique, 516; 
marriage, 516; Thackeray's tribute, 

517- 

Browne, Sir Thomas, 153. 

Browning, Elizabeth Barrett, sketch of, 
568-584; rank, 568 ; indomitable energy, 
568; birth and ancestry, 569 ; childhood 
studies, 569; "Essay on Mind," 569; 
Greek scholarship, 570; " Prometheus 
Bound," 571 ; in London, 571 ; " Ro- 
maunt of Margret," 571 ; " Poet's Vow," 
572; "Seraphim, and Other Poems," 
572; invalid condition, 573; two vol- 
umes of poems, 574; secret marriage, 
576 ; " Sonnets from the Portuguese," 
576; in Florence, 577; " Casa Guidi 
Windows," 577; in Paris, 579; spirit- 
ualism, 579; Tennyson's visit, 580; 
"Aurora Leigh," 580; " Poems before 
Congress," 581 ; " Curse for a Nation," 
582; death, 582; character, 583; poe- 
try, 583. 

Browning, Robert, sketch of, 585-602; 
originality, 585 ; obscurity, 585 ; spirit 
of the age, 586 ; birth and parentage, 
586 ; childhood, 587 ; scholarship, 587 ; 
"Pauline," 588; love of music, 588; 
" Paracelsus," 589 ; an idealist, 589 ; 
dramas, 590; a subjective poet, 591 ; 
" How They Brought the Good News," 
591; " Sordello," 592; "Bells and 
Pomegranates," 592; "My Last 
Duchess," 593; fundamental ideas, 
594; marriage, 595; "Christmas Eve 
and Easter Day," 595; "Men and 
Women," 596 ; aim of artist, 596; love, 



597 ; death of his wife, 597 ; " Dramatis 
Personae," 598 ; " Death in the Desert," 
598; " The Ring and the Book," 599; 
Greek transcripts, 599, 600; "Prince 
Hohenstiel-Schvvangau," 600; "La 
Saisiaz," 600; critique, 601; death, 
601 ; a teacher, 601. 

" Brut " of Layamon, 41. 

Bulwer, Edward, Lord Lytton, 473. 

Bunyan, John, sketch of, 181-193 ; meagre 
education, 181 ; a tinker, 181 ; vicious 
youth, 182; in Civil War, 182; rnar- 
riage, 183 ; religious experience, 183 ; 
conversion, 184 ; as a preacher, 185 ; 
imprisoned, 186; " Pilgrim's Progress," 
187-189 ; " Holy War," 189, 190 ; " Life 
and Death of Mr. Badman," 190; style, 
190; Macaulay on, 191; popularity, 
192; death and characterization, 193. 

Burke, Edmund, 273 ; 279-281. 

Burnet, Gilbert, 195. 

Burns, Robert, democratic spirit, 286; 
sketch of, 349-365 ; rank, 349 ; tragic 
hfe, 349 ; birth and parentage, 350 ; 
early reading, 350 ; first love poem, 350 ; 
at Kirkoswald, 351 ; " Mary Morison," 
351; his ambition, 352; at Irvine, 352; 
effort to reform, 353 ; at Mossgiel, 354 ; 
first volume, 354 ; dinners " wi' a Lord," 
355 ; visits Edinburgh, 355 ; his man- 
ner, 356; independence, 356 ; drinking 
revels, 357; marriage, 358; failure in 
farming, 358; sympathy with nature, 
359; "To Mary in Heaven," 360; at 
Dumfries, 360; manner of life, 361; 
democratic sympathies, 361 ; last days, 
362; kindly judgment of, 363; estimate 
and critique, 364, 365. 

Butler, Joseph, 195. 

Butler, Samuel, 196, 210. 

Byron, Lord, sketch of, 397-409; poetry 
autobiographic, 397 ; place in literature, 
397 ; birth and ancestry, 398 ; early 
attachment, 399; at Cambridge, 399; 
"Hours of Idleness," 400; "English 
Bards and Scotch Reviewers," 400 ; 
travels on Continent, 400; " Childe 
Harold's Pilgrimage," 400; "The 
Giaour," " Bride of Abydos," etc., 
401, 402; appearance, 402; opinion 
of women, 402 ; marriage, 403 ; " Fare 



n 



INDEX. 



691 



Thee Well," 403 ; leaves England, 404 ; 
completes " Childe Harold," 404, 405; 
"Prisoner of Chillon," 405; dramas, 
406 ; " Don Juan," 406 ; critique, 407 ; 
influence on the Continent, 407 ; goes 
to Greece, 408 ; death, 408 ; sadness 
of his life, 409. 

Csedmon, 9* 24, 25. 
Campbell, Thomas, 368, 376. 
Carew, Thomas, poem of, 163. 
Carlyle, Thomas, sketch of, 622-638 ; 
three famous Scotchmen, 622; con- 
trast with Macaulay, 622 ; his faith in 
heredity, 622 ; school days, 623 ; at 
university, 624; a teacher, 624; period 
of gloom, 625 ; " The Everlasting Yea," 
625 ; a German scholar, 626 ; opinion 
of contemporaries, 626 ; reverence for 
Goethe, 627 ; marriage, 627 ; articles 
for Ed'mbu7-gh, 628; "Sartor Resar- 
tus," 629; his style, 630; "French 
Revolution," 631; as lecturer, 632; 
"Heroes and Hero- Worship," 632; 
"Past and Present," 632; "Crom- 
well's Letters and Speeches," 633; 
" Frederick the Great," 634 ; Inaugural 
Address, 635 ; closing years, 635 ; char- 
acter, 636; transcendentalism, 637 ; in- 
fluence, 638. 

Cathedral schools, 37. 

Caxton, William, 67 ; 71, 72. 

Celts, II, 12, 13. 

Chapman's " Homer," 84. 

" Chansons de Geste," 37, 38. 

Charles I., and his policy, 156; bad ad- 
visers, 157; beheaded, 159, 

Charles H., 198. 

Chatterton, Thomas, his "Rowley 
Poems," 285. 

Chaucer, Geoffrey, 31; sketch of, 49-63; 
preeminence, 49; scanty details, 50; 
earliest poem, 50; pubhc offices, 51; 
literary bent, 51 ; disciple of Gower, 
52 ; marriage, 52 ; various poems, 53 ; 
astrolabe, 54; death, 54; appearance, 
54; integrity and attainments, 55 ; love 
of nature, 56 ; treatment of women, 57 ; 
objectionable passages, 57 ; prepara- 
tion for his work, 58 ; French influence, 
59; Italian influence, 59; English pe- 



riod, 59, 60; " Canterbury Tales," 60- 
63 ; descriptive power, 61, 62 ; critique, 
63 ; diction and versification, 64-66, 
Christianity introduced by Augustine, 14, 

IS- 
Clough, Arthur Hugh, 474, 
Coffee-houses, number of, 205. 
Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, sketch of, 
425-441; influence of, 425; birth and 
parentage, 425; precocity, 426; Lamb's 
description, 426 ; literary training, 427 ; 
enlists in dragoons, 428 ; Pantisocracy, 
428 ; marriage, 429 ; Watchman, ^zg ; 
first volume of poems, 430-432; rela- 
tions with Wordsworth, 432 ; "Ancient 
Mariner," 433; "Love," 434, " Chris- 
tabel," 435; as a preacher, 436; in 
Germany, 436 ; translates " Wallen- 
stein,"436; in Lake District, 437 ; use 
of opiates, 437 ; at Malta, 437 ; as lec- 
turer, 438 ; dramas, 438 ; " Biographia 
Literaria," 439; three periods, 439; 
personal magnetism, 440; death and 
character, 440. 

Collier, Jeremy, 195. 

Collins, Wilkie, 473. 

Collins, William, 273. 

Congreve, William, 196; tribute to Dry- 
den, 227. 

Conquest, Roman, 12. 

Cowley, Abraham, 153, 165. 

Cowper, William, sketch of, 332-348 ; 
elements of his poetry, 332; sad life, 
332 ; birth and parentage, 333 ; ill- 
treatment at school, 334; poetical 
turn, 334 ; studies law, 335 ; in love, 
335 ; mental aberration, 336 ; piety, 
337 ; in the Unwin family, 337 ; at 
Olney, 338; bad health, 339; " Report 
of an Adjudged Case," 339; lack of 
initiative energy, 340; English poets, 
340 ; moral satires, 341 ; and Lady 
Austin, 342; "John Gilpin," 342; 
"The Task," 343-345; translates 
Homer, 346 ; shorter poems, 346, 347 ; 
death, 347 ; his sincerity, 347. 

Crabbe, George, 274. 

Craik, Dinah Maria (Miss Mulock), 

474. 
Cromwell, Oliver, anecdotes of, 159. 
Cudworth, Ralph, 195. 



692 



INDEX. 



Danes, The, 11. 

Daniel, Samuel, 67, 97. 

Dante, 39. 

Darwin, Charles, 475. 

Declaration of Independence, 276. 

Defoe, Daniel, 196, 207, 208. 

Deism, principles of, 201. 

Dekker, Thomas, 68. 

De Quincey, Thomas, sketch of, 459- 
472; personal characteristics, 459; old 
family, 459 ; birth and parentage, 460 ; 
childhood, 460; love of solitude, 461; 
under the influence of his brother, 
461; at school, 462; classic attain- 
ments, 463 ; visit to Ireland, 463 ; at 
Lady Carbery's, 464 ; runs away, 464 ; 
at Oxford, 465 ; opium fiend, 466 ; in 
the Lake District, 466 ; " Confessions," 
467 ; article on Goethe, 467 ; Carlyle's 
etching, 468 ; " Walladmor," 468 ; 
" Murder as a Fine Art," 469 ; in 
Edinburgh, 469; style, 470; literature 
of knowledge and of poiver, 471 ; his 
digressions, 471; preeminently intel- 
lectual, 472 ; death, 472. 

Dickens, Charles, sketch of, 535-551 ; 
parentage, 535 ; autobiographic ele- 
ments in "David Copperfield," 536; 
early reading, 536; in blacking ware- 
house, 537 ; at school, 538 ; in solici- 
tor's office, 538 ; as a reporter, 539 ; 
"Sketches by Boz,"540; "Pickwick," 
540; Carlyle's etching, 541 ; marriage, 
542; " Oliver Twist," 542; "Nicholas 
Nickleby," 543; method of work, 543; 
" Old Curiosity Shop," 544 ; " Barnaby 
Rudge," 544; travels, 545; "Martin 
Chuzzlewit," 545 ; "Christmas Carol," 
546; in Italy, 546 ; " Dombey and Son," 
547 ; theatrical company, 547 ; " David 
Copperfield," 548 ; other novels, 548 ; as 
a reader, 549 ; death, 549; critique, 550. 

Disraeli, Benjamin, Earl of Beaconsfield, 

473- 

Dobson, Henry Austin, 474. 

Drama, opposed by ancient church, 97 ; 
origin of modern, 98 ; miracle plays, 
98 ; moralities, 98 ; interludes, 99 ; first 
comedy, 99 ; first tragedy, 99 ; theatres, 
99; technique of, 151, 152; decline of, 
under Puritan rule, 160. 



Drayton, Michael, 67, 97, 

Dryden, John, sketch of, 215-228 ; rank, 
215 ; degradation of genius, 215 ; birth 
and parentage, 216 ; at Westminster 
school, 216 ; at Cambridge, 216 ; " He- 
roic Stanzas " and " Astraea Redux," 
217; as dramatist, 217, 218; "Annus 
Mirabilis," 219 ; " Absalom and Achito- 
phel," 219, 220; " Religio* Laici," 220, 
221; translates Boileau, 222; turns 
Catholic, 222; "Hind and Panther," 
223; "Mac Flecknoe," 224; transla- 
tions, 224 ; " yEneid," 225 ; versions 
from Chaucer, 225; "Alexander's 
Feast," 226; his prose, 226; as a 
writer, 226, 227; Congreve's tribute, 
227. 

Edgeworth, Maria, 368, 376. 

Education followed Christianity, 16, 17. 

Edwin calls a council, 16. 

Element, personal, in literature, 4, 

Eliot, George, sketch of, 552-567; 
psychologic realist, 552 ; birth and 
parentage, 552 ; fond of reading, 553 ; 
domestic training, 553 ; as a linguist, 
554; temperament, 554 ; sceptical, 555; 
Myers quoted, 555 ; translates " Leben 
Jesu," 556; on the Continent, 556; 
editor of Westminster Review, 557 ; 
relations with Lewes, 557 ; realistic 
principles, 558; "Amos Barton," 558 ; 
critique, 559; happy life, 559; "Adam 
Bede," 560; " Mill on the Floss," 561 ; 
in Florence, 561; "Silas Marner," 
561; " Romola," 562; receptions, 563 ; 
"Spanish Gypsy," 564; other poems, 
564 ; " Middlemarch " and " Daniel 
Deronda," 565 ; education of women, 
565 ; marriage to Cross, 566 ; death, 
566 ; power and purpose, 566. 

Elizabeth, Queen, ascends throne, 74; 
difficulties and dangers, 75 ; character, 
75 ; growth of Protestantism, 75, 76 ; 
condition of country, 76, J7; English 
character, jj ; patron of drama, 139. 

England, people composite, 11 ; meaning, 
13; in fourteenth century, 35, 36; ac- 
cession of Elizabeth, 74, 76 ; and Scot- 
land united, 202 ; influence abroad, 202 ; 
social condition, 203 ; material and 



INDEX. 



693 



intellectual progress, 277 ; morals and 
religion, 278; a world-power, 278; in 
Age of Scott, 371 ; in Victorian Age, 

477-483- 
English literature, defined, 2; periods of, 6. 
Evelyn, John, 195, 206. 

Farquhar, George, 196. 
Fiction, in Victorian Age, 484. 
Fielding, Henry, 196, 209. 
First Creative Period, 69; revival of 
learning, 70, 71 ; literary activity, 84, 96. 
First Critical Period, 197, 
Fletcher, John, 68, loi. 
Freeman, quoted, 40, 475. 
French influence at Restoration, 198. 
Froude, James A., 475. 

Geoffrey of Monmouth, 39, 41. 

Gibbon, Edward, sketch of, 315-331 ; 
rank as historian, 315; "Autobiog- 
raphy," 315 ; ancestry, 316 ; birth, 316 ; 
at school, 317 ; love of history, 318 ; 
criticism of Oxford, 318 ; becomes a 
Roman Catholic, 319; sent to Lau- 
sanne, 319 ; ardor in study, 320 ; re- 
nounces Romanism, 320 ; and Voltaire, 
321 ; love affair, 321 ; in London, 322; 
his library, 322; "L'Etude de la Lit- 
terature," 323; captain of militia, 323; 
finds historical subject, 324; in Paris, 
324 ; visits Italy, 325 ; idleness, 325 ; 
begins "Decline and Fall," 326; in 
Parliament, 326 ; retires to Lausanne, 
327 ; concludes " Decline and Fall," 
327 ; writes " Autobiography," 328 ; 
death, 329; his character, 329, 330; 
critique, 330 ; style, 331. 

Gleeman, 21, 22. 

Goldsmith, Oliver, sketch of, 302-314 ; 
characteristics, 302 ; Garrick's epitaph, 
302 ; birth and parentage, 303 ; as a 
student, 304 ; at the university, 305 ; 
anecdote, 305 ; objection to clerical 
profession, 306 ; starts to America, 306 ; 
studies medicine, 307; travels on Con- 
tinent, 307; in London, 308; circle of 
acquaintances, 309; thriftless, 309; 
"Vicar of Wakefield," 310; "Travel- 
ler," 310 ; " Good-Natured Man," 311 ; 
hack-work, 312; "Deserted Village," 



312; "She Stoops to Conquer," 313; 
death, 313 ; Thackeray's estimate, 314. 

Gower, John, 31 ; sketch of, 47, 48. 

Gray, Thomas, 273. 

Green, John Richard, on classical re- 
vival, 37; on Puritanism, 160, 475. 

Green, Robert, 68, 99. 

Gregory, Pope, anecdote of, 15. 

Grote, George, 475. 

Hallam, Henry, quoted on " Faery 

Queene," 109; on Bacon, 134, 367; 

various writings, 375. 
Hamilton, Sir William, 476. 
Hazlitt, William, 367, 374. 
Hemans, Felicia Dorothea, 368. 
Herbert, George, 153. 
Herrick, Robert, 153; quoted, 164. 
History, in Age of Johnson, 281; in 

Victorian Age, 484. 
Hobbes, Thomas, 195. 
Hood, Thomas, 368. 
Hooker, Richard, 67 ; sketch of, 90-92. 
Howard, Henry, Earl of Surrey, 67; 

sketch of, 81-83. 
Hudson, Henry, quoted on Shakespeare, 

141. 
Hume, David, 273, 281-283; "History 

of England," 282. 
Hunt, Leigh, 367. 
Huxley, Thomas Henry, 476. 
Hyde, Edward, Earl of Clarendon, 153, 

161. 

Independents, character of, 158. 
Indo-European group of languages, 20. 
Inventions, 71, 72; of Victorian Age, 

478. 
Italy, influence on English literature, 

39- 81, 83. 

Jeffrey, Francis, 367, 374 ; op Byron, 400 ; 
on Wordsworth, 422. 

Johnson, Dr. Samuel, quoted, 163; 
sketch of, 288-301 ; intimate knowl- 
edge of, 288 ; peculiarities, 288 ; in 
conversation, 289; on friendship, 289; 
his prejudices, 290; birth and educa- 
tion, 290 ; marriage, 291 ; trials in 
London, 291; as a reporter, 292; 
"London," 292; "Dictionary," 293; 



694 



mDEX. 



and Chesterfield, 294; "Vanity of 
Human Wishes," 295 ; " Irene," 295 ; 
Rambler, 296; style and aim, 296; 
" Rasselas," 297 ; pensioned, 297 ; The 
Club, 298; views of " Ossian," 298; 
"Journey to Hebrides," 298; "Lives 
of the Poets," 299; death, 300. 
Jonson, Ben, 68; sketch of, 101-103; 
on Bacon's oratory, 124; tribute to 
Shakespeare, 140. 

Keats, John, 368, 377, 378. 
Keble, John, 369. 
Kingsley, Charles, 473. 

Lamb, Charles, 367, 375 ; on Coleridge, 
426, 

Landor, Walter Savage, 369. 

Lang, Andrew, 474. 

Langland, 31; "Piers the Plowman," 
46; Marsh on, 47. 

Latitudinarians, 200. 

Layamon's " Brut," 31, 41. 

Lecky, W. E. H., 475. 

Literature, in largest sense, i ; English 
literature, 2 ; influences determining, 2 ; 
literature in narrower sense, 4 ; classic 
literature, 5 ; as a social force, 5 ; liter- 
ary taste, 6; periods of English, 6. 

Locke, John, 195, 206. 

Lockhart, John Gibson, 367,375. 

Louis XIV. and literature, 198. 

Lowell, James Russell, quoted, 97 ; on 
Pope, 257. 

Lyly, John, 67, 87. 

Lytton, Lord, (Owen Meredith), 474. 

Macaulay, Thomas Babington, quoted^ 
170 ; sketch of, 488-503 ; popularity, 
488 ; birth and parentage, 489 ; childish 
precocity, 489 ; at Cambridge, 489, 
490 ; earliest publications, 490 ; " Essay 
on Milton," 491 ; great as a man, 491 ; 
in Parliament, 492; in India, 492; 
learns German, 493; visits Italy, 493, 
494; Secretary of War, 494 ; "Essays," 
495 ; style, 495 ; a partisan, 496 ; ex- 
tracts, 497; " Lays of Ancient Rome," 
499 ; as a historian, 500 ; theory of his- 
tory, 501 ; " History of England," 501 ; 
last years, 502. 



Macpherson, James, his " Poems of 
Ossian," 285; Johnson's letter to, 298. 
Manning, Robert, 31, 43. 
Marlowe, Christopher, 68, 99, loi. 
Marryat, Frederick, 473. 
Massinger, Philip, 68, loi. 
McCarthy, quoted, 478 ; on Macaulay, 

SOS- 
Metaphysical poets, 162; Dr. Johnson 
on, 163. 

Methodism, rise of, 204. 

Middle English Period, 33. 

Mill, John Stuart, 476. 

Miller, Hugh, 476. 

Milman, Henry Hart, 475. 

Milton, John, quoted on books, 5 ; sketch 
of, 167-180 ; greatness of, 167 ; paren- 
tage, 167; educational reformer, 168; 
declines to take orders, 169 ; at Horton, 
169; " Comus," " L' Allegro," " II Pen- 
seroso," 169, 170; " Lycidas," 170; his 
travels, 171 ; premonitions of fame, 
172 ; private school, 172 ; various con- 
troversial writings, 173 ; marriage, 174 ; 
"Doctrine of Divorce," 174; recon- 
ciliation, 174; " Areopagitica," and 
" Tractate on Education," 175 ; on 
language study, 176; Cromwell's sec- 
retary, 177; " Defensio," 177; blind- 
ness, 178; "Paradise Lost," 179; 
"Paradise Regained," and "Samson 
Agonistes," 180; death, character, 180. 

Miracle plays, 98. 

Mitford, William, 375. 

Moore, Thomas, 368, 380-382. 

Moralities, 98. 

More, Hannah, 368. 

More, Sir Thomas, 67, 80. 

Morris, William, 474. 

Newspapers, rise of, 277. 
Newton, Sir Isaac, 195. 
Normans, 33; character, 34; coalesce 
with Anglo-Saxons, 35. 

Oratory, in Age of Johnson, 279. 
Ormin, his " Ormulum,"45, 46. 



Paris, Matthew, 31 



Pepys, Samuel, 195, 206. 

Percy, Thomas, 274; " Reliques," 285. 



INDEX. 



695 



Periodicals, become important, 215 ; 
newspapers, 277 ; reviews, 374, 480. 

Periods, literary, not sharply defined, 372. 

Petrarch, 39. 

" Piers the Plowman," Langland's, 46, 47. 

Poetry, first literature of a people, 21 ; 
Anglo-Saxon, 22; change of tone, 286; 
nature in, 286, 287 ; in Victorian Age, 
486. 

Pope, Alexander, influenced by France, 
199 ; extract from " Rape of the Lock," 
203 ; sketch of, 240-257 ; character and 
genius, 240 ; childhood, 240 ; reading, 
241 ; precocity, 241 ; and Dryden, 242; 
and Trumbull, 242 ; and Walsh, 242 ; 
Wycherly, 243; " Essay on Criticism," 
243-245 ; and Dennis, 245 ; " Rape of 
the Lock," 246; " Iliad," 247; " Odys- 
sey," 248 ; quarrel with Addison, 248, 
249; at Twickenham, 249 ; filial affec- 
tion, 250; " Dunciad," 250-252; 
Thackeray's critique, 252 ; " Essay on 
Man," 252-254; death, 255; character- 
istics, 255-257 ; as a poet, 257 ; Lowell's 
estimate, 257. 

Porter, Jane, 368, 376. 

Puritanism, and literature, 159, 160; ex- 
treme, 197. 

Quarles, Francis, 153 ; quoted, 164. 
Queen Anne, ascends throne, 201. 

Race, influence of, on literature*, 2, 3. 

Radcliffe, Ann, 367, 376. 

Raleigh, Sir Walter, 67 ; sketch of, 92- 
96, 107. 

Raumer, quoted on Bacon, 134. 

Reade, Charles, 473. 

Realism, 485. 

Reformation, the, 72, 73. 

Religion and literature, 44, 159, 160. 

Restoration, the, moral effects, 198 ; 
and science, 199; Green on, 200. 

Revival of learning, 70, 71. 

Revolution, the, 200, 202 ; French, 373. 

Richardson, Samuel, 196, 208. 

Robert of Gloucester, " Rhyming Chroni- 
cles," 31, 43. 

Robertson, William, 273, 283, 284. 

Robin Hood, 70; ballads, 40, 70. 

Rogers, Samuel, 369. 



Romanticism, rise of, 284; new, 486. 

Roscoe, quoted on " Rape of the Lock," 
247. 

Rossetti, Dante Gabriel, 474. 

Royalists, 157. 

Ruskin, John, sketch of, 656-670; varied 
spheres, 656; and Carlyle, 656; birth 
and parentage, 657 ; childhood, 658 ; 
thirst of authorship, 659; interest in 
art, 659; love of mountains, 660; wor- 
shipper of nature, 660 ; at Oxford, 661 ; 
" Poetry of Architecture," 662; "Mod- 
ern Painters," 663 ; manner of writing, 
664; marriage, 664; "Seven Lamps," 
664 ; " Pre-Raphaelitism," 665 ; "Stones 
of Venice," 665; popular lectures, 666; 
" Unto this Last," 666; "Sesame and 
Lilies," 667 ; " Crown of Wild Olives," 
667; "Time and Tide," 667; educa- 
tional reformer, 668 ; Professor of Fine 
Arts at Oxford, 668 ; at Brantwood, 
669 ; as a critic, 669 ; eccentricity, 669 ; 
rank, 670. 

Sackville, Thomas, Earl of Dorset, 67, 97. 

Schools, cathedral and monastic, 37, 

Scott, Sir Walter, sketch of, 383-396; 
prominence, 383 ; ancestry, 383; child- 
hood, 384 ; at the university, 385 ; as 
a lawyer, 385; early romance, 386; 
marriage, 387 ; " Minstrelsy of the" 
Scottish Border," 387 ; Carlyle on, 387 ; 
" Lay of the Last Minstrel," " Mar- 
mion," " Lady of the Lake," 388, 389; 
method of work, 390 ; Abbotsford, 390 ; 
as host, 390; tree-planting, 391; pub- 
lishing house, 391 ; " Waverley," 392; 
other romances, 392 ; romanticist, 393 ; 
wrote rapidly, 393 ; character of Wa- 
verley novels, 394; style, 394; effort to 
meet obligations, 395 ; last days, 396. 

Shakespeare, William, sketch of, 136- 
150; preeminence, 136; meagre de- 
tails, 136 ; parentage, 137 ; education, 
137; marriage, 137; in London, 138; 
as actor, 138; "Venus and Adonis," 
139; Spenser's tribute, 139; growing 
wealth, 139; social life, 139, 140; Jon- 
son's tribute, 140 ; dissatisfied- with 
actor's life, 140; retires to Stratford, 
141 ; death, 141 ; Hudson's estimate, 



696 



INDEX. 



141; rich inner life, 142; sanity, 143; 
development of his genius, 143, 144; 
hidden personality, 144 ; knowledge of 
dramatic art, 145 ; enriched borrowed 
materials, 146; historical plays, 146; 
acquaintance with human nature, 146 ; 
noble types of men and women, 147 ; 
style and diction, 147; voices human 
experience, 148, 149; his influence, 
149; on the Continent, 150; enduring 
fame, 150; addendum on drama, 151, 
152. 

Shelley, Percy Bysshe, sketch of, 442- 
458 ; growing fame, 442 ; sad life, 442 ; 
childhood, 443; at Eton, 443; at Ox- 
ford, \'\\ ; appearance and character, 
445; "Posthumous Fragments," 445; 
" Necessity of Atheism," 446; in Lon- 
don, 446; marriage, 447; migratory 
life, 447 ; " Queen Mab," 447, 448 ; op- 
timist, 449 ; elopement, 449 ; " Alastor," 
450; suicide of his wife, 451 ; " Revolt 
of Islam," 451 ; manner of life, 452 ; 
in Italy, 452; "Julian and Maddalo," 
453 ; various works, 453 ; " The Cenci," 
455; "Cloud," 455; "Defence of 
Poetry," 456; " Adonais," 456; 
drowned, 457 ; as a poet, 457 ; as a 
reformer, 458. 

Shenstone, William, 274. 

Sheridan, Richard Brinsley. 273. 

Sidney, Sir Philip, 67, 88-90. 

Smith, Adam, 274. 

Southey, Robert, 368, 378, 379. 

Spencer, Herbert, 476. 

Spenser, Edmund, sketch of, 104-116; 
first great writer of Creative Period, 
104; meagre details, 104; education, 
105 ; " Shepherd's Calendar," 105 ; in 
London and Ireland, 106 ; visited by 
Raleigh, 107; "Colin Clout's Come 
Home Again," 107; "Mother Hub- 
bard's Tale," 108 ; " Faery Queene," 
109 ; marriage, 109 ; " View of the State 
of Ireland," no; Kilcolman Castle 
burned, in; characterization, in; 
Spenserian stanza, 112 ; plan of " Faery 
Queene," 113-117; critique, 117, 118; 
tribute to Shakespeare, 139. 

Stevenson, Robert Louis, 473. 

Stewart, Dugald, quoted, 128. 



Swift, Jonathan, sketch of, 258-271 ; 
as a writer, 258 ; as a man, 258 ; birth 
and education, 259; at college, 259; 
at Temple's, 260; "Battle of Books," 
260 ; at Laracor, 261 ; sermons, 261 ; 
imperious temper, 262 ; satirical gift, 
262; "Tale of a Tub," 263; in London, 
264; "Journal to Stella," 265; rela- 
tions to women, 265; secret marriage, 
266; " Drapier Letters," 267; "Gulli- 
ver's Travels," 267; "Thoughts on 
Various Subjects," 268; style, 269; 
eccentricities, 269 ; friendships and 
hatreds, 270 ; insanity and death, 270 ; 
characterization, 271. 

Swinburne, Algernon Charles, 474. 

Taillefer, anecdote of, 38. 

Taine, quoted, 160. 

Taste, literary, 6. 

Taylor, Jeremy, 153, 160. 

Temple, Sir William, 196; Swift with, 
260. 

Tennyson, Alfred, visit to Brownings, 
580 ; sketch of, 603-621 ; preeminence, 
603; fortunate life, 603; birth and 
parentage, 604; at Cambridge, 604; 
"Poems, Chiefly Lyrical," 605; con- 
ception of poetic character, 606; 
volume of '32, 606; a fundamental 
principle, 607 ; interim of study, 608 ; 
in London, 609; volume of '42,610- 
612; character of his poetry, 612; 
" Princess," 613 ; conservative sym- 
pathies, 613; "In Memoriam," 614- 
616; marriage, 616; various homes, 
617 ; " Maude, and Other Poems," 617 ; 
" Idyls of the King," 618-620; " Enoch 
Arden," 620 ; " Crossing the Bar," 620 ; 
enduring fame, 621. . 

Thackeray, William Makepeace, tribute 
to Addison, 239; estimate of Gold- 
smith, 314; of Charlotte Bronte, 
517; sketch of, 519-534; parallel with 
Dickens, 519; birth and parentage, 
519; at Charter House, 520; at Cam- 
bridge, 520 ; classic style, 521 ; at 
Weimar, 521 ; studies law, 521 ; loses 
his fortune, 522 ; " Memoirs of Yellow- 
plush," 523 ; "Catherine," 523 ; " Great 
Hoggarty Diamond," 523; other writ- 



INDEX. 



697 



ings, 524; marriage, 524; "Lucky 
Speculator," 525; "Novels by Emi- 
nent Hands," 525 ; " Book of Snobs," 
526 ; " Vanity Fair," 526-528 ; " Pen- 
dennis," 528 ; not a cynic, 529 ; " Henry 
Esmond," 530; other novels, 531; 
" English Humorists," 531 ; in America, 
532 ; as a poet, 532 ; editor of Corn/iill 
Magazine, 533 ; death, 534. 

Theatres, first English, 99, 100. 

Thirlwall, Connop, 475. 

Thomson, James, 196, 211, 212. 

Tillotson, John, 195. 

Trollope, Anthony, 473. 

Troubadour poetry, 40. 

Trouvere poetry, 37. 

Universities, the oldest, 37. 

" Utopia," of Sir Thomas More, 80. 

Victorian Age, grandeur of, 477 ; age of 
inventions, 478 ; science, 479 ; practi- 
cal, 479 ; educational advancement, 
480; political progress, 481; social 
progress, 481 ; religious advancement, 
482 ; favorable to literature, 483. 

Waller, Edmund, 153, 164. 
Walpole, Horace, 274, 285. 



Walton, Izaak, 153, 162. 

Warton, Thomas, 274, 285. 

Watson, William, 474. 

Webster, John, 68. 

Whately, Archbishop, quoted, 127. 

William of Malmesbury, 31. 

Wilson, John, 367. 

Women in literature, 375. 

Wordsworth, William, sketch of, 410- 
424; parallel with Byron, 410; child- 
hood, 411; influence of nature, 411; 
without vocation, 412; in France, 412; 
fortunate life, 413 ; " Lyrical Ballads," 
413-415; in Germany, 415 ; "Prelude" 
and other poems, 415 ; famous preface, 
416 ; life in Lake District and marriage, 
417 ; death of his brother, 418 ; " The 
Happy Warrior," 419; "The Rain- 
bow," 420; "Ode on Immortality," 
420, 421 ; at Rydal Mount, 421 ; " Ex- 
cursion," 422; confidence in himself, 
422; death, 423; character, 423; love 
of nature, 423, 424. 

Wyat, Sir Thomas, 67, 83, 84. 

Wycherly, William, 196; and Pope, 
242. 

Wycliffe, John, 31, 44, 45. 

Young, Edward, 196, 212-214. 



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